


Therapeutic Smiles

by wildes



Category: Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: M/M, Romance, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-01
Updated: 2014-01-13
Packaged: 2018-01-03 05:19:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 50,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1066227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wildes/pseuds/wildes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If they were to look back, now, either of them, they would realise it was always in the cards for them. But life doesn't work that way. You can look back at memories, but you can't turn back time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer - this is a work of fiction.
> 
> I wrote this for NaNoWriMo 2013, to get it out of my system, mainly. It's finished, but it needs a lot of editing - please comment/kudos if you like it to encourage me. :)
> 
> The first chapter is set in early 2006.

 

Richard

 

”You complete idiot, Hammond.”

Richard smirks, stumbling over the doorstep, feeling James’ hand on his lower back, guiding him in gently. ”Oh, you love me,” he says softly and shrugs his black leather jacket off his shoulders, kicks his shoes off to two opposite sides of the small front room of James’ house. He stands and watches, smile firmly in place, as James picks them up and sets them carefully on the self-made shoe rack near the door.

“I _don’t_ ,” James says firmly as he picks Richard’s jacket from the floor and goes about finding a coat hanger for it, “you are an insufferable git and I do not know why I put up with you.”

Richard elbows him and then turns on his heels, making his way to James’ kitchen. Fusker is sleeping on the counter and Richard touches her carefully, not wanting her to claw his eyes out. She only purrs at the touch, though, and Richard pets her gently, mumbling nonsense under his breath. “Good girl,” he says. “You seem to like it here at James’, don’t you? Yeah, thought so. Anyway it’s good that James has at least one girl here to take care of him. Not like that, though. I hope. Er, this has suddenly become quite awkward.” Fusker just purrs and looks at him with a steady, dark-eyed gaze. Richard smirks and hugs her close for a second.

“I’m hungry,” he calls out to James after a while. When he gets no reply he sighs and tells Fusker that he doesn’t understand how she puts up with James, then calls out a louder and more demanding, “James!”

Eventually James appears to lean against the door frame, looking pensive and somewhat surly. “What?” he asks sharply. “Do you _want_ to sleep on the floor? I am trying to find you a decent mattress to sleep on, here.”

“Stop fretting, James,” Richard says gently and takes a couple of steps towards his friend. It’s probably the alcohol, but everything seems soft around the edges. “I don’t mind, I can crash on your sofa –“

James cringes at that. “Yeah, about that,” he says, not meeting Richard’s eyes. “I’d rather you didn’t, it was a bloody pain in the arse to get it cleaned after the last time you ‘crashed’ on it, Hammond.”

It is Richard’s turn to cringe, distant, hazy memories flooding into his mind of him vomiting all over James’ sofa cushions.

“Ah,” he says, “right.” Unable not to protest, he adds, “But I’m not that drunk, now.”

James lifts an eyebrow, a hint of a smile playing in the corner of his mouth. “Aren’t you?” he teases, his voice low and soft. It occurs to Richard how much he loves that voice, how he could spend hours just listening to James talk – as much as he likes to pretend he finds his lectures dead boring. James’ eyes are a shade of icy blue, and maybe Richard is imagining it but he thinks he can smell the remains of his aftershave. He breathes in deep.

“Richard?”

Yeah, okay, so. Maybe he’s a little bit tipsier than he’d realised.

“I am hungry,” he says, because that is one thing he’s certain is true. He drops down on the chair in front of him and looks up at James expectantly.

“Er,” James says awkwardly, scratching his head. His hair is falling on his eyes in a way that in his drunken state Richard fails to find anything but endearing. “I don’t have anything in.”

“Mate!” Richard protests, perhaps louder than he’d meant to. “You must have… something.” He watches as James starts going through the cabinets and drawers in his well-organised kitchen. Suddenly it’s all a bit funny, and he bursts in little, high-pitched giggles. “Oh James.”

Unexpectedly, James joins him in his laughter, giving a throaty roar of a laugh. “I have noodles?” He offers meekly, fishing two brightly coloured packets of instant noodles out of the top drawer.

“That’ll do,” Richard says and stands up, going around James to examine the packets closer. “I’ve never understood why they make them ‘chicken flavoured’.” He says and looks up at James. “Why don’t they just make them, I don’t know, noodle flavoured?”

“Noodle flavoured noodles,” James repeats smiling, reaching over Richard to turn the kettle on, proceeding to sling a warm arm around Richard’s shoulders, squeezing him against James’ side slightly. Richard looks up at him earnestly, with wide eyes. “The world needs a genius like yours,” James mocks softly, releasing his grip on Richard and taking a couple of steps back.

It’s probably the alcohol, but for a few moments Richard misses the solid warmth of James against his side.

“You know, Hammond,” James says, “it’s times like these when you begin to wonder what exactly it is that you’re doing with your life.” He smirks lop-sided, pointing at the clock. “It is 5am and we’re preparing a noodle-based meal. Surely something’s gone wrong.”

Richard laughs at that, but he isn’t sure. He isn’t sure something has gone wrong at all. It’s probably the alcohol, but he thinks everything has gone just brilliantly.

In fact it isn’t until he finds himself clutching on to James’ shirt, pouts of violent nausea washing over him in uncontrollable waves that he thinks there might be somewhere else in the world he’d rather be, after all. He feels awful and guilty and he tries to apologise, but James just hushes him and rubs circles into Richard’s back and holds him close and –

Richard vomits all over James’ chest, and it’s disgusting and the smell and sight of it just makes him retch again. James sighs. “You complete numpty, Richard Hammond,” he says quietly, but he doesn’t push Richard away although maybe he should. Instead he lifts a hand to rub on Richard's scalp. “Not that drunk, then, huh?”

Richard heaves and splutters out an apology, shaking slightly in James’ hold. “I’m so sorry, James, I-“

“It’s better than ruining my couch all over again,” James says dryly. “Are you alright to shower?” he asks, pushing Richard at an arm’s length, his kind, calm eyes searching Richard’s.

“S’pose so,” Richard mumbles. What he really wants to do is brush his teeth and go to bed, but he suspects James won’t be down with that idea. He is watching Richard closely, with his head tilted slightly to one side. If Richard didn’t feel so utterly miserable, he’d be laughing right about now, at James’ calm and composed expression, as one of his favourite striped jumpers is dripping with Richard’s chicken flavoured noodle booze cocktail vomit.

“Alright,” James says. “Come on, then,” he says, steering Richard forwards with a hand on his back, all but pushing him over the doorstep of his downstairs bathroom. Richard can’t help a slightly panicked, breathless giggle escaping him when James pulls his sweater over his head and is suddenly standing there half-naked in front of Richard.

He wiggles his eyebrows for good measure. “Are you going to join me in the shower, May?”

James flinches forcefully and Richard laughs. “Yes, very funny,” James says and throws his shirt to the sink. “I’d advice you to start getting out of your own clothes, I would like to get some sleep at some point tonight.”

Suddenly feeling self-conscious, Richard waits until James turns on his heels and leaves him alone in the room before stripping out of his jeans and his t-shirt and jumping into the shower. The flow of the water is soft, and the temperature is just perfect, comfortably warm without burning his skin. His eyelids start to feel heavy and he knows he has to step out the shower before he falls asleep in it. He has a distinct feeling he’s caused enough trouble for one night without adding water damage to it.

He pulls his boxer shorts on and dries himself to what he suspects is James’ towel. It might be the alcohol, but he feels like he’s lost the ability to function.

He tip-toes out of the bathroom and sits down on James’ sofa. It really isn’t his intention to fall asleep on it, really, it isn’t; he means to wait for James to come and fetch him, to tell him where James has laid down his mattress, but unfortunately, as he waits, his eyelids fall shut and he intends to just rest his eyes for a second, really he does, but as he rests his eyes what turns out to be a little bit more than just a second, he falls asleep.

When he twitches awake in the middle of the night – or, sometime in the morning, to be more accurate – there’s a bucket placed next to his head on the floor and a blanket over his body and a pillow tucked under his head and he smiles despite himself, despite the beginnings of what is surely going to be a heck of a headache thrumming in the back of his head. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The build-up in this story is really slow. But stick with it and things will happen eventually. 
> 
> Warning - mention of Richard's crash.

 

 

James

 

It really is a miracle, how well the three of them work together.

Hammond is an impulsive, lovable, good looking young man, and James is, well. James is James, a scruffy character presumably born in his fifties, a bit weird and a little more than a bit compulsive and a bit of a recluse. And then there is Clarkson, who is nothing if not an obscene and wildly inappropriate character, too loud for his own good, too opionated, too keen to rile people up just for the sake of his own amusement.

James watches as Richard and Jeremy bicker over something superficial, their voices heated and their hands flailing wildly in the air between them. It is about something incredibly stupid, what colour they should paint their latest Top Gear creation, but they are acting like it is the most important argument the world has ever seen. James rolls his eyes.

“Stop it!” he interjects after what feels like hours but probably isn’t more than ninety seconds. “You can save your pointless arguments to the recording.”

“But –“ Richard starts.

“Hammond thinks –“ Jeremy begins.

“Stop it,” James says firmly. “You two are worse than my three year-old nephews, I swear to god.”

Richard grins at him, his eyes bright and his teeth white, and James will never stop wondering how he does it, how he genuinely manages to go from sullen to overjoyed in a matter of seconds.

“We are more charming, though,” Richard says and pats James on the knee. “Get me a cup of tea.”

James huffs out a sigh, but doesn’t argue. It’s someone’s job to be the flexible, sensible one. At least just this once. “Sugar?” he asks, getting out of his chair and heading towards the small kitchenette the Top Gear office in Norfolk is equipped with. The answer never comes but it’s not as though James needs it. After a couple of years of practically living in each other’s pockets James has learnt some things, one of them being how Richard Hammond takes his tea. And his coffee. And his alcohol. And his food.

He has a rummage around the cupboard for two mugs, picks one with a picture of an elf on it for Hammond and a plain one for himself. He pours water to the mugs, drops one sugar cube into the hot water and crams a tea bag in. He checks the fridge for milk but unsurprisingly they seem to have run out of it. He shrugs, pours another cup full of water for himself, grabs another tea bag and makes his way back to the table they’re gathered around, pushing one of the mugs in front of Hammond.

“Thank you, James,” Richard says.

“Fuck off,” James says.

“No, mate, I mean it. Thank you,” Richard says and offers a small smile. James smiles back for a moment before –

“Where’s the milk?”

“You ungrateful swine,” James says and shakes his head. He laughs softly and from the corner of his eye sees Richard’s shoulders shake lightly as well.

“Where the fuck is Wilman?” Jeremy grumbles from the other side of the table, oblivious to the interchange going on between James and Richard. “He said we should be here at eight o’clock sharp. It’s eight fucking thirty and he’s nowhere to be seen and he isn’t _picking up his goddamn phone_.”

“He probably thought the chances of the three of us all getting here before eight thirty were pretty damn slim,” James says slowly.

“Beside the point,” Jeremy says. “And anyway, even _you_ made it here in time, so where is he?”

Ignoring Jeremy’s dig at him, James lifts his mug to his lips and takes a careful sip. There isn’t a worse way to start a day than by burning his throat with tea, so he’s become almost exceedingly cautious. Deciding the liquid is much too hot still for drinking, James sets the mug back down on the table.

“What are we doing today, anyway?” Richard asks, his mug already half-empty. _Reckless_ , James thinks and then has to stop himself from rolling his eyes at his own thoughts.

“ _I_ am driving a car around our track very quickly,” Jeremy says. “Don’t know about you. Andy would probably know. Should he ever care to actually turn up.”

“He’s just caught in the traffic somewhere,” James says calmly, reasonably. Then he takes another tentative, careful sip from his mug. It’s much better already – he doesn’t think the tea would burn his mouth. He sets the mug back down to the table, watches as Richard places his now-empty cup next to it.

“Yeah,” Richard agrees, several beats too late. “You know how the traffic gets on Mondays, Jez. Relax.”

James glances sideways at Richard, who seems to be looking down at his hands. He suddenly feels like the events of the last weekend are hanging in the air between the two of them.

“Yeah,” he says, somewhat unnecessarily, but Richard looks up and smiles at him and it’s worth Jeremy’s frustrated sigh.

“Alright, alright!” Jeremy exclaims.

“Anyway,” James says, to try and diffuse the tension. “Later in the week it’s roadwork, am I correct?”

“Think so,” Richard says. “It’s a stupid idea.”

“It’s a brilliant idea,” Jeremy says, not surprisingly. “I genuinely can’t see what could _possibly_ go wrong, I – WILMAN, ABOUT TIME YOU BLOODY BASTARD.”

“Shut up and go and have some make-up put on your stupid face, Clarkson,” Andy says, running his hand across his face. “Hammond, May, we have some scheduling stuff we need to look through; they have bloody gone and changed the date we can shoot with the Vampire…”

“Right,” James says.

Weeks and weeks later, he would look back at that moment. He would mull over every last bit of things said, over and over again, hoping that he could stop thinking altogether. He would wish for a button to just turn his brain off for a while, to give him a moment’s rest from his whirling thoughts.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeremy takes the boys to a pub.

Jeremy

“Right,” he says, looking down at his two colleagues, the idiot and the other idiot. “Today I’ve presented an Audi to some art critics – I need a drink. Pub, eight o’clock.”

“I –“ Richard starts, his eyes widening.

“But –“ James says, running his hand through his stupid mop of hair.

Jeremy interrupts them, lifting a hand up. “I’m not hearing it, I won’t hear it. I expect you two to turn up.”

The two of them still look hesitant and Jeremy rolls his eyes. “Eight o’clock,” he repeats in a tone that hopefully doesn’t leave room for any arguments. He needs a drink and he wants to have it with his two mates at his local and he doesn’t want to have to fight over it.

James is the first one to give in. “Yeah, alright,” he says, shrugging. “It’s not like I have anything better to do.”

“Good! Hamster?” Jeremy knows he’s won when he sees Richard puff out a theatrical sigh.

“If I can crash at James’ place,” he says, glancing at James, who rolls his eyes.

“As if I could stop you,” James says wearily.

Jeremy grins.

 

The pub is crowded, because it’s Friday and there’s a game of football on, but Jeremy doesn’t mind. The more people there are, the more likely they are going to go unnoticed. Jeremy orders three pints of lager and three shots of tequila and a bottle of champagne to begin with, and carries the lot to a small table in the corner of the dimly-lit pub.

“Really?” Richard asks as he sets the tray down to the table.

 “I intend to get hammered, gentlemen,” Jeremy exclaims, a massive smirk plastered on his face.

“That much is evident,” James says dryly and reaches for his pint.

“Shut up and drink,” Jeremy says and then looks at Richard. “Mazda! What were you thinking of, man?”

And just as expected, it’s enough to get them going for two hours straight.

Jeremy smiles. He thoroughly and unashamedly enjoys this, the three of them just talking, bickering or arguing over a good amount of alcohol.

It’s after their fourth pints and some shots later that some bloke appears next to their table, pointing at Richard with a wavering hand.

“You’re the guy, from telly,” he says and Jeremy laughs.

“Observant, are we?” he says and hopes it’ll be enough to drive the guy away.

“Short bloke,” the guy goes on and Jeremy buries his face in his hands. He already knows how this will end.

“Why don’t you bugger off,” James cuts in, and it’s not just almost but _exactly_ how Jeremy imagined it might go, when the guy replies.

“Oh sorry, I didn’t realise you were out with your  _boyfriend_ , excuse me.” His words are jammed together and he can barely stand, but Jeremy can see he’s still managing to rile Richard up.

“Fuck off,” Jeremy says tiredly. He doesn’t necessarily want Richard to punch a bloke in his local pub. It would be a shame to be barred from here.

“Only if the short guy comes with me, I think I’d like to show him something.”

“Like what?” Richard says angrily. Jeremy watches as James slings his arm around Richard’s shoulder lightly, a silent warning not to do anything stupid.

The guy gets his phone out from the pocket of his jeans. “There’s a photo of me fucking your wife somewhere in here –“

As if on cue, the three of them all stand up: Richard out of sudden anger, Jeremy is sure; James in order to keep Richard from doing anything stupid – his hand is curled around Richard’s bicep tightly in warning; and Jeremy to put a stop to this. He is usually pretty good at that, his height often intimidating enough to put an end to any cocky nonsense.

“Fuck off, mate, and we’ll say no more about it,” Jeremy says, and incredibly, the guy’s shoulders slump.

“Yeah. Sorry,” he says and turns to go away.

Jeremy feels nothing short of a champion, as they sit back down. His victorious mood, however, is somewhat ruined by Richard continuing to look sullen and grumpy.

“Don’t mind him, Hammond,” James says, patting Richard on the shoulder rather awkwardly. “He was a cock.”

“Yeah, Hammond,” Jeremy agrees. “Drink your drink.”

“Yeah,” Hammond says and gulps the rest of his beer down in one go. He grins after he’s swallowed, though. “Did you notice how out of the three of us he recognised _me_? Not the mighty Jeremy Clarkson, but me!”

James rolls his eyes.

“Wouldn’t be too proud of that, there’s a simple explanation. Only cunts like him watch day time television – they have absolutely nothing better to do in their meaningless lives than watch your idiotic face during the day time,” Jeremy says.

“Still,” Richard says, a glint in his eye and a teasing tone to his voice. “He recognised me, not you. That must be hard for your enormous ego to accept, that.”

Jeremy shakes his head, smiling.

“Right,” he says. “Right.”

A few silent moments pass, with each of them preoccupied with their own thoughts. Jeremy thinks about everything and nothing in particular at the same time, his thoughts whirling in a pleasant, unfocused blur in his head. He listens to Ziggy Stardust blasting from the speakers and realises his eyelids are starting to feel heavy. He snaps his eyes open.

“Gentlemen!” he all but shouts.

Both of the men in front of him flinch at that, brought back from whatever day dream they might have been having.

“You are some _lousy_ company,” Jeremy says. “Now! I have a brilliant idea!”

“Have you,” James says, leaning against the table. “I can’t wait to hear this.”

Jeremy watches as James and Richard share a little smile, but he doesn’t let that bring him down.

“We are going to play a drinking game!”

He watches as his brilliant idea goes completely wasted on the idiots that he sometimes calls his friends.

“We are not playing a drinking game,” James says, flat out. “If Hammond plays a drinking game, he is going to vomit all over my apartment _again_ and I’ve barely got rid of the smell from the last time.”

“I don’t like drinking games,” Richard grumbles, wrinkling his nose in the same manner that he would if someone offered him a dish with fish in it.

“You two are about as much fun as malaria,” Jeremy says, disappointed. Then a light goes off in his brain, yet again, just as The Smiths starts playing. “Okay, no drinking games. A _truth_ game.” Jeremy emphasises the word truth, making it high-pitched and stretched. “We take it in turns to reveal something about ourselves that the others don’t know.”

“That’s a stupid idea,” Richard says. “Besides, I can’t think of anything you two baboons don’t already know.”

“Aw, don’t be like that,” Jeremy says. “There must be something. A Dave from art college, or a Cindy in Thailand that turned out to be Charles –“ Jeremy turns to James. “Or a Dave who could play the guitar, or a drumming session that turned kinky –“

“Yeah, alright,” Richard cuts him off, wearily. “Why don’t you start us off, then?”

Jeremy opens his mouth to answer, but nothing comes out. Now that he tries to think about it, there isn’t a single thing that he could say to Richard and James that they don’t already know about him. Well. At least there isn’t anything he would particularly be keen to share. Which, although he supposes would be the point of this exercise, doesn’t seem very appealing now that he’s expected to do it.

“I think it might be a time to call it a night,” James says, after the silence stretches on.

“But it’s still early!”

“It’s not that early,” James says and points at the clock on the wall, telling the ruthless truth. It’s ten past one in the morning. Now that Jeremy looks around, the pub has already started to quiet down a little, empty tables have appeared around theirs.

He watches as James calls himself and Richard a cab, waves them goodbye and leaves the pub to walk home in the brisk night air.


	4. Chapter 4

Richard

“Please refrain from vomiting on my carpets, Hammond,” James says softly, a hint of smile in the corners of his eyes.

Richard elbows him hard enough to be convincing, and glances at the taxi driver. He doesn’t seem to be giving a fuck about who they are.

“Don’t worry,” Richard says. “I’m not that far gone, I promise. Honestly.”

James smirks. “Good to know.”

“Besides, I blame your noodles.” Richard says and leans his head back, closing his eyes. He listens the gears change in the Mazda’s automatic gear box as the cabbie accelerates.

“There was nothing wrong with my noodles,” James replies slowly.

There’s a comfortable silence that falls between them, and Richard starts to feel like he’s about to doze off. Then, from the middle of nowhere, he hears words.

“What?” he says and opens his eyes, stretches his hands.

“Noel,” James says.

“What?” Richard repeats, feeling like he’s missed something critical.

“Noel. A guy from college. A guy that I, er,” James pauses awkwardly and looks at anywhere but Richard, shoots a nervous glance at the cabbie, “used to have drumming sessions with.”

Richard blinks, feeling like nothing is quite adding up. Surely James doesn’t mean what Richard thinks he means? It’s not the notion of James having had a – it takes Richard some effort to find the right word for it, because it is _James_ somehow ‘James’ and ‘boyfriend’ don’t seem to go together all that well – it’s more the surprise of him telling Richard this, and him telling Richard this now, in the back of some cab on the way back from the pub.

“It’s not a big deal, it was a long time ago,” James says after a while and Richard realises how his silence must have seemed and he could kick himself.

Despite that, the only thing he manages to roll of his tongue is, “Why are you telling me this, James?” He says it gently, though, hoping with every fibre of his being that his tone of voice is enough to convey that it’s not a big deal to him, either.

“I don’t know,” James gives an awkward little laugh. “Just thought I, erm. Thought I could.”

“You can,” Richard says quickly. “Anything, mate.”

Richard leans back in his seat and closes his eyes again. Pretty soon he starts to drift off, and it’s in a half-asleep half-awake state that he thinks he hears James say ‘thank you’ in the softest, most quiet of voices, but he can’t be sure.

He doesn’t wake up until James’ hand curls around his wrist. “Hammond, wake up, we’re here.”

Richard blinks and grunts and makes his way out of the car with difficulty, James more or less pulling him out of the vehicle. Waving the cabbie goodbye for good measure, Richard walks behind James to the door and inside his house, shrugging his jacket off and throwing it to the corner along with his shoes.

When he sees James leaning down to pick them up, he grabs him by the shoulder and stops him. “James, leave it,” he says tiredly. “Let’s just go to sleep.”

“It will bother me,” James says quietly, and bends down to pick Richard’s jacket up, managing to make Richard feel like a complete arse.

“Sorry,” he says and goes to put his shoes neatly to the shoe rack. “Alright?” he asks and nods when James nods at him. “Good. Let’s go to sleep, James.”

“Promise not to puke on my couch?” James teases softly and Richard cringes.

“Oh, do fuck off,” he says and shoves at James’ shoulder half-heartedly.

He sleeps restlessly, that night. He has weird dreams that whirl around in his head and never quite make sense. In one of them James is one of his dogs, barking at him violently when he tries to get close, showing his teeth. James keeps barking at him until Richard suddenly snaps wide awake. He rolls around on the sofa, unable to find a comfortable position.

Eventually he just stares at the clock on the wall, watching as the seconds go by, turning into minutes and then into hours, slowly but surely, predictably. He finds some comfort in that, in a weird way the certainty that it will soon be morning again is reassuring. He listens to the noises the house makes, and the steps on the wooden floor as Fusker walks around.

After a moment there are bigger steps and Richard is suddenly aware that he’s not the only one having trouble sleeping.

“James?” he whispers into the darkness. The steps cease. “James?” Richard says again, a little bit louder.

“Richard,” James whispers. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I wasn’t sleeping,” Richard says, not bothering with whispering as there’s nobody there for them to whisper for. “I was having trouble falling asleep. Why are you awake?”

“Same story,” James says and walks to stand next to the couch.

“Too many things on your mind?” Richard asks as James sits down next to him, his bare feet looking oddly out of place against the fancy carpet.

“Something like that,” James says, rubbing a hand over his face. “Hammond, about earlier, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable or anything –“

“Stop it,” Richard says and lifts a hand to touch James’ shoulder lightly. “You didn’t make me uncomfortable. It is fine. What else could it be? I’m glad you told me. I’m glad you trusted me.” He offers a small smile which widens as he sees James smiling back faintly.

“It was a long time ago,” James says quietly.

“Yeah,” Richard says, not sure what the appropriate reaction to that is. “Was he hot?”

James smirks. “I thought so, at the time. Not too sure now,” he chuckles lightly. “He was the kind to wear a lot of make-up and at the time I found that endearing, somehow.” He shakes his head at the memory. “Anyway. Any skeletons in your closet, Hammond?”

_I sometimes think about kissing you_ , he thinks. The thought comes out of nowhere, hits him like a lightning and he flinches. “Nah,” he says and he hopes he doesn’t sound as unconvincing as he feels. “Nothing I could have kept from you two hyenas for this long.”

James raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t say anything. They sit there, in silence, for minutes, listening to the clock ticking seconds away and Richard stealing little glances at his friend. The dim lighting of the room makes shadows fall on his face, and Richard finds it hard to tear his gaze away. James has his eyes closed and his expression is calm, almost serene. The wrinkles in the corners of his eyes seem to have smoothed out, and his breathing is even. If Richard didn’t know any better, he’d say James was sleeping.

Richard leans back against the sofa, closing his eyes. He feels calm and comfortable for the first time that night. The knowledge that there’s someone _there_ near him, with him, and – Richard would never admit the thought even to himself – _protecting_ him, is lulling him back to sleep.

The next time he opens his eyes, the room is full of light and he is alone on the couch. There is a hollow feeling inside of his chest that Richard really doesn’t want to think about further. He rubs his eyes with his fist and makes his way to the kitchen.

He stops to lean against the door frame. “Morning,” he says, and his voice is about two octaves lower than it usually is.

James looks up from his morning paper. “Morning,” he says. “There’s something in the fridge,” he adds and goes back to the paper.

“Something,” Richard repeats and yawns. It turns out James’ idea of ‘something’ is lager, eggs, orange juice, cheese, and a pile of something that looks absolutely disgusting and which Richard wouldn’t touch even with a ten foot stick. He cringes and closes the fridge door.

“Do you have frosties, or something?” he asks miserably and can’t help a little pout.

“I have some fruit muesli but no milk,” James says without looking at Richard.

“Ah,” Richard says. “Right.” He opens the fridge again and takes out a can of lager and opens it in one swift movement.

That makes James look up, his face displaying a comic branch of surprised. Richard shrugs and takes a long sip of the beer. He would never admit it to James but there is a part of him that quite enjoys James’ poncey, expensive lagers.

James shakes his head. “You… I can’t even find words for what you are, Hammond.”

Richard grins. “The most lovable person on the face of the planet,” he chimes, and sits down opposite James, proceeding to steal the sports half of his newspaper.

“More like an insufferable oaf,” James shoots back, but there’s a certain kind of softness to his voice that to Richard sounds almost fond, and it makes his belly make a little pleasant flip around.

They both immerse in their respective parts of the newspaper after that, and it never fails to surprise Richard just how comfortable it feels with James, to fall in these sort of silences, to do things like this as if they have done it a thousand times before, as if it is an every-day occurrence.

“Ah,” James starts, “did you know that –“

“No,” Richard cuts him off. “No lectures first thing in the morning, please, James.”

James snorts but Richard can tell he hasn’t really made his friend angry. Richard finishes the last of his lager and thinks that he should probably be thinking about heading home soon. Mindy had been talking about some gardening that needed to be done, and they would probably prepare a Saturday lunch together.

“What are your plans for today, mate?” Richard asks and watches as James lifts his head up slowly.

“Nothing in particular,” James says, and Richard almost, almost asks him if he would like to join his family for Saturday lunch. He doesn’t, though, because the words feel odd on the tip of his tongue. It feels like mixing two parts of his life he would rather keep apart. And anyway, he is pretty sure James would have declined the offer.

“Right,” Richard says, then. “I think I should probably get going, get off your hair.”

James doesn’t reply, just gives a non-committal grunt.

As an afterthought, Richard says, “You and Sarah should come over sometime. I think Mindy would like that.”

“Yeah,” James says. “Maybe.”

Richard nods. It’s the best he’s going to get out of James for now, he is sure.

When he closes James’ front door behind him, he draws in the surprisingly cool and brisk air in deep breaths and starts planning the meal for the day. He smiles.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning - deals explicitly with Richard's crash.

James

He would never forget his world tumbling down in a matter of seconds. His phone had started ringing in the middle of a meeting and it had been a nuisance and he remembers almost disregarding the call, almost pressing the red button and going about his business. He hadn’t, though, because it had been Andy calling him, and James had been curious.

He almost wishes he hadn’t picked up the phone, after all.

_James, mate, there’s been an accident. Richard…_

He had barely registered anything Andy had said to him after that. He vaguely remembers demanding to know where Richard had been taken, remembers taking his keys and getting into his car, remembers Andy’s weak words, _Mate, I’m – I’m sure he’ll be alright…_

But James had known he couldn't have been sure, he'd heard it in his voice and in the way his words had faltered.  _He’s crashed the Vampire, it doesn’t look too good, mate…_

He vaguely remembers calling Sarah. She had promised to come to the hospital with him and he'd felt inexplicably grateful for that.

But most of all what he remembers is the feeling in his chest, as if someone had been choking him, and the hammering in his brain. He remembers fighting back tears and driving fast, no trace of Captain Slow in his acceleration for once, remembers parking his car haphazardly and not giving a fuck.

He had hugged Mindy tight against his chest, her fragile frame shaking against him. She’d buried her sobs against James’ shoulder and James had forced himself to breathe in even, slow breaths; he had promised himself not to break down in front of Mindy. She needed him to be strong. They all needed _someone_ to be strong, and while James really didn’t feel strong, nor did he think he was going to be capable of being the strong one, he felt it was his duty to at least try. Richard would have wanted him to be the sensible one. Richard would have counted on him to comfort his wife and keep some sense in the world.

He remembers Jeremy and Francie arriving to the hospital, Jeremy going around and uncharacteristically giving them all a bear hug, and James remembers how grateful he'd been for that, how much it had meant to him to have someone else take over the control of the small room they were gathered in. He'd been unable to speak or even move, just waiting, waiting.

He remembers flipping through a car magazine and not registering a word of it, remembers Jeremy commenting on the torque of some car on the cover, and remembers how his words had dried in his throat. Mindy had been breathing heavily in the corner, her face completely pale, Sarah and Francie hugging her and telling her it was going to be okay, over and over again, a mantra that by the end ceased to sound like real words, stopped to have any meaning, just a string of sounds flowing through the otherwise deadly quiet room.

Minutes had never felt so long. He had looked at the depressingly plain clock on the white wall, convinced it was broken somehow. Every time he’d glanced that way, it didn’t seem to have moved one bit. Seconds had dragged along, slowly. Everything had slowed down somehow.

Jeremy had been sitting next to him, but aside from Jeremy’s comment about the torque they hadn’t exchanged a word in what felt like days but had in reality probably been only a couple of hours. There had been nothing to say, nothing that could make them feel better; nothing that could distract them from the situation they were in.

Just as James had finished that thought, Jeremy had spoken. “He’s a stubborn little pain in the arse,” he’d said, softly. “There is no way he will let a car of any sort finish him. His pride will get in the way of that.”

Nobody had replied and the silence had fallen over them again. Suffocating them.

*

James’ recollections from the past hours feel hazy and unreliable, his memories soft around the edges. He is still sitting in that small, dreadful white room with Jeremy, Mindy, Sarah and Francie. 

He sighs, looking down at his hands. He has forced himself to stop thinking. What ifs aren’t going to help, and he doesn’t want to break down. So he doesn’t think about anything at all – at least that is what he tells himself. He isn’t thinking about the possibility of Richard not pulling through this. He definitely isn’t thinking about how much he loves the little man. He isn’t thinking about two small girls possibly having to grow up without a dad. He isn’t thinking about the possibility of Mindy having to raise them alone.

There’s a lump in his throat that refuses to go away.

“We will be here for you,” James chokes out to Mindy and she nods jerkily, unable to form words.

It’s then that the door opens, and a white-jacketed man steps in. He is holding a file and there’s a pen in his hand.

“Amanda Hammond?” he asks and Mindy stands up quickly.

“Is he alright?” she squeaks, high-pitched, panicky, and demanding.

The doctor offers a small smile. “He is stable,” he says, and James feels like he is able to breathe again. The relief is painfully shot-lived, though, as the doctor goes on, his face turning serious. He has the face the doctors have on all those stupid medical dramas, when they are about to tell they are sorry, and James hates it. He’s never pegged himself to be a very violent man, he’s never hit anyone nor has he wanted to hit anyone. But now he feels like punching the man standing in front of him, for wearing that face and for making James feel so completely and totally powerless.

“You will have to understand that he is in a coma, right now,” the doctor says and the three of them all take a sharp intake of breath. “His brain is swollen and it is not until it has come down that we can really tell what the extent of his injuries truly is. In other words, we will have to be patient and wait until he wakes up.”

The doctor pauses, letting his words sink in. James hates it, wants to hear all of it at once so he can start processing it, putting it in little pieces in his head and starting to build it together again, organise all the bits of information in their right places. He feels like a mess, and he has never been good at dealing with that. It’s partly why he is how he is, a compulsive man with a tendency to shut himself out from the world.

“If he wakes up, I would like you all to be prepared that he might not be the same man you have all got to know and love. Personality changes in these kind of injuries are common…”

The doctor goes on, but James can only hear bits and pieces. He feels waves of nausea wash over him and wonders if he is about to actually be sick. The possibility of Richard waking up as someone else feels unimaginably horrifying to him. It’s somehow almost worse than the possibility of him not waking up at all.

James desperately wants to stop thinking. He needs some fresh air.

“Jez,” he croaks out with difficulty. “I’m going out for a smoke.”

“I’ll come, too,” Jeremy says hastily and stands up, and with a final glance at Sarah and Francie fussing over Mindy, leads the way down the corridor to a small balcony at the end of it. Jeremy opens the rusty, creaking door and holds it open, waiting for James to step outside first. This, James realises, is Jeremy being kind. Somehow that thought haunts him and it sends another set of deeply unpleasant shivers down his spine.

He lights up his cigarette with shaky fingers and takes a deep drag, his cheeks hollowing.

“Thought you had quit,” Jeremy says dully, his own cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah,” James says, and his voice doesn’t sound like his own. “Thought so, too.” Still, the smoke is at least something familiar, and James knows that at some point it has helped him to calm down. He hopes it will have the same effect now. He lights another cigarette, hands still shaking.

“He will be fine,” Jeremy says steadily, watching as James tries and fails to light the cigarette.

James lifts his gaze. “You don’t know that, Jeremy. Don’t say that.”

He goes back to flicking the cigarette lighter, waiting to hear Jeremy protesting. He never does, and James realises he had been hoping for Jeremy to be his own arrogant self and reply with something like _Yes, I know he will be alright, because I know everything. I am Jeremy Clarkson. Power!_ James wouldn’t have believed him, but it might have helped him to feel a little less out of his depth.

But Jeremy keeps quiet, smoking his fag in silence.

Somewhere in the distance, seagulls are screeching.

**

It’s not a very manly moment for him.

But in James’ defence, he has managed to keep his cool until this moment. He has been there for Mindy. After the initial shock, he has never let his façade falter – he’s made himself the poster boy of “I know Richard is going to be okay”, and he has stood by it, as hard as it has been.

He steps in the small, white room and looks at his friend in bandages, his chest pale apart from the large, nasty-looking bruises. There’s a bandage around one of his eyes and he looks even smaller than usually in the hospital bed.

When Richard sees James, he tries to sit up, and that does it for James.

He bursts crying, big, warm tears making their way down his face uninvited. He rubs his eyes violently and hurries to sit at Richard’s side.

“Don’t try to sit up,” he chokes out, smiling and sobbing at the same time. “You will hurt yourself.”

He has been told by the doctors that Richard won’t remember who he is. There’s a hint of recognition in his friend’s eye, though, but it seems to be clouded by confusion.

“I, uh, this is weird, but I’m James, I’m your friend.”

“Hello, James,” Richard says, a cheeky smile on his bruised face, and James feels like he could burst.

“I brought you something, it’s a bit lame but I know you like Lego and, well –“ he can’t form sentences so he quits trying and just shoves the packet to Richard’s lap.

“I love it! Can we play?” Richard asks earnestly, and James smiles.

“Yes, we can,” he says. “Anything, Richard.”

They build cars and planes and houses, and James talks to Richard about nothing in particular and everything at the same time. He isn’t really sure how much Richard understands, but he doesn’t seem to mind James talking.

“So, are you my best friend?” Richard asks him at one point, and James blinks.

“I don’t know,” he replies truthfully. “I like to think I’m one of your better friends, if not quite the best.”

“I think you are the best,” Richard says and completes what looks suspiciously like Chrysler’s Dodge minivan. “A-ha!” he exclaims and goes on to tear the minivan into little pieces. “Hideous, that,” he says. “Three doors, ew. Two point two litre engine. Disgusting.”

James laughs heartily at that. “Good old Hammond,” he says, and feels eternally blessed to be able to let those words out of his mouth only days after the most horrifying day of his life.

“They told me I have a wife,” Richard says. “A wife,” he repeats. “She was lovely.”

“She is lovely,” James agrees.

“I like you, too,” Richard says after a while. “I really like you.”

It’s a weird afternoon, but not in a bad way. When he leaves the hospital that day, after having spent hours with Richard, he is absolutely certain that his friend will be back to himself in a jiffy. It’s such a relief that he feels giddy and beside himself with joy, and although usually he isn’t much of a hugger, when he sees Mindy returning to the hospital as James leaves, he gives her a big, happy hug.

“He will be back to himself before you know it,” he assures her. “You’ll be picking up his dirty socks from the floor in no time.”

She smiles. “Thank you for being with him today,” she says. “He panics if he’s left alone for too long, or with someone he isn’t comfortable with. I really needed the break. Thanks, James.” She leans up to peck a little kiss on his cheek.

James leaves the hospital with a light bounce in his step that wasn’t there when he arrived.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James thinks back to the time he and Richard first met.

James

He thinks back to the first time they saw each other, at a Top Gear production meeting. James had been so nervous. He had already met Jeremy for a few times, but James wouldn’t have called him a friend or anything of the sort, and Richard, well. Richard he’d only seen on television.

 

> He feels awkward in his skin, but that is nothing new.
> 
> He suddenly wishes he’d worn something else other than the old, faded sweater with stripes on it. With steady steps he approaches the office. Soon he will have to pass for a sociable human being. He takes a deep breath and opens the door.
> 
> “Hello,” he says, because you need to start with hello. “I’m James May.” He looks around the room. There aren’t too many people there, Andy and Jeremy and Richard Hammond and some members of the crew he doesn’t recognise.
> 
> “James,” Andy says. “We’ve been expecting you. Take a seat, have a cup of coffee.”
> 
> “He isn’t usually that nice,” Richard tells him as James sits down next to him. “Don’t get used to it. He’s just putting on a front ‘cause you are new.”
> 
> James doesn’t bother mentioning to Richard that he has actually worked with Andy before. Instead he offers out a hand and Richard takes it. “Richard Hammond,” he says, and there’s a small smile on his face.
> 
> “James May,” James says.
> 
> “Yeah, I know, mate, you just said it like, ten seconds ago.”
> 
> James cringes. He isn’t sure what it is about this man but he makes James feel itchy under his skin. To be perfectly honest he isn’t quite sure if he actually likes him all that much.
> 
> When they break for lunch and cigarettes, James follows Richard outside for a fag.
> 
> “Do you have –?” Richard motions and James hands him a lighter. “Thanks,” Richard says and lights his cigarette.
> 
> “So,” Richard says.
> 
> “So,” James repeats. It’s painfully obvious that neither of them are any good at this getting to know people thing. It seems that Richard is even worse at casual small talk than James is, and that is saying something.
> 
> “I don’t know, what’s your favourite car?”
> 
> James grins. “Thought you’d start with an easy one, yeah?” he says. But it turns out to be just the question to get the flow of talk going. Before James knows, they are deep in a discussion about how much they both hate the Volkswagen Beetle, and how Richard’s all-time favourite car is the Porsche 911.
> 
> James has to admit to himself that his initial assumption that he and Richard might not get along too well out of work had been wrong; the longer they talk, the more obvious it gets that they have good chemistry. It is surprising to James how much he actually _enjoys_ talking to this man. James notices how his eyes widen when he gets excited about something and how low his voice gets when he starts talking about something he likes. Pretty soon James comes to realise that Richard isn’t at all unlike his persona on television: he’s excitable in the same way, and he’s just as easy-going as he appears to be through the television screen. And James really appreciates that.
> 
> Their lunch break is almost over and they are still sitting outside side by side, on a cement bench, deep in discussion about their favourite bikes.
> 
> “I’m just really, really glad there’s another biker in the show, now,” Richard says gleefully. “Jeremy’s got nothing on us!”
> 
> “He will probably beat us to death with a hammer though, if we try to bring bikes up too much,” James says dryly, only half-joking.
> 
> “Yes,” Richard agrees. “I would say that is a definite possibility of how things might turn out.”
> 
> They grin at each other like two school girls for a moment. Then James takes a look at his wrist watch.
> 
> “We should probably get back inside,” he says. “I don’t want to get fired on my first day.”
> 
> Richard smirks. “You’re not getting fired. There’s finally someone sensible on the show - I’m not letting go of you.”
> 
> James feels warm at the words and he can’t keep a stupid, goofy smile from appearing on his face. He’s sure Richard will live to regret those words someday soon, but for now, it feels good to have made a passable first impression on the man.
> 
> They make their way back inside and the meeting drags on. James isn’t required to speak much and he’s glad because he doesn’t think he would have anything remotely helpful to say anyway. He starts doodling things to the growing pile of paper in front of him, and it’s only a few minutes until he notices Richard is leaning closer to him, trying to see what he’s drawing.
> 
> He smirks to himself and draws a rather distinctive picture of a cock.
> 
> He hears Richard burst out in little giggles beside him and can’t help a snort of laughter escaping himself.
> 
> Eventually, after what feels like seventeen days and thirty-six hours (and yes, James is aware that is a completely useless way of measuring time), Jeremy sighs loudly and hollers out:
> 
> “I think that must be it, right? No more of this today, Andy. We are all dying for a fag and a pint, you can’t keep us here any longer.”
> 
> “We are already behind schedule and we haven’t even started filming yet,” Andy protests but he looks like he is about to give in. And sure enough, after all of three seconds, he says, “Alright, you can go, but I expect you all back in this room by ten am tomorrow, so don’t go and get so drunk you won’t make it, because I _will_ cut your balls off.”
> 
> “Charming as ever,” Richard mumbles to James. “We are going to the pub, you coming?” It’s as if he senses James’ hesitation, because after a beat he adds, “You have to come, come on. Please. For me.”
> 
> James nods. “Okay then,” he says.
> 
> “Yes!” Richard says happily and it warms James’ heart more than he cares to put into words.
> 
>  

Maybe that was the beginning of what James is only now daring to put into words even in his own head. Maybe it was the first grin Richard ever flashed at him or the first flutter of his eyelashes, or the first time he looked at James from under his eyebrows. It might have been the first time he made a knob-joke or the first time he touched James’ shoulder lightly.  Or maybe it was all of those things at once, making things turn on their heads in his brain. Be whichever it may, James is pretty sure there’s nothing he could have done to stop it. He would have always ended up here. Fancying his best mate.

James washes his hands under the cold water running from the tap. He feels guilty and a bit dirty thinking about his friend in this way, but he figures there comes a point in every man’s life that the pretences must be dropped and facts faced.

_And the fact is, James May loves Richard Hammond,_ James thinks.

James flinches and then proceeds to cringe. It sounds awful even in his head. He tries again.

_The fact is, James May thinks Richard Hammond is a bloody good mate and also pretty damn hot for a bloke._

_Now that_ , James thinks. _Much, much better._

James smiles to himself while cutting the carrots into small, identical pieces and wonders whether it’s possible that he has completely and once and for all lost his mind.

 

 

> “So, what can I avoid doing so that I don’t get sacked after one series?” James says. He is pretty wasted, in his defence, and in his current state it seems to him that they are all good enough mates by now for him to be able to be straight about it. Besides, he is curious.
> 
> “Don’t be a fucking dickhead and you should be alright,” Jeremy grunts, not entirely kindly.
> 
> “What happened?” James asks, becoming aware of the stiff atmosphere around the table only after the words have left his mouth.
> 
> “Hamster can tell you if he wants to,” Jeremy says. James turns to Richard, who shakes his head.
> 
> “Not now, mate,” he says quietly.
> 
> James nods dully. It is then that Jeremy shouts loudly, “ANOTHER ROUND!”
> 
> James forgets to worry about it after that.
> 
> It’s not until Richard pulls him outside of the pub by the wrist for a smoke two long hours later that it returns to him. He doesn’t say anything, but he can sense that Richard is thinking about it too, the shorter man worrying his bottom lip between his teeth and looking troubled.
> 
> “Look,” James starts, because this has all become quite awkward now, they have known each other for all of one day and he feels like he is demanding Richard to tell him his darkest secrets, even if it is just about some stupid fight he’d had with his ex-copresenter. “You don’t need to tell me, really. It’s fine. I shouldn’t have asked; I’m a cock. Sorry.”
> 
> “No, it’s…” Richard starts. “He, umm. There’s no easy way to put it.” He cringes, lighting a cigarette. James watches him, notices his fingers shaking ever so slightly, and feels even bigger a cock if possible. “He made a pass at me, and he didn’t take it too well when I turned him down.” Richard blurts out quickly, the words jumbling together so that it takes James a while to figure out what he actually said.
> 
> “Oh, cock,” James says, in the lack of anything better to say. “I’m sorry.”
> 
> Richard rubs a hand over his face. “Yeah. It turned into a fight. I mean he was very drunk, but –“
> 
> “That’s no excuse,” James says quickly.
> 
> “No,” Richard agrees. “No, no, it’s not. Anyway he called me names and shoved at me and I’m not entirely sure it would have stopped there if Jeremy hadn’t stepped in.”
> 
> It takes James a good couple of minutes to process what he has just heard. “Wow,” he says after a while. “What a complete fucking pillock, that man.”
> 
> “Tell me about it,” Richard says. There’s a little smile playing around the corners of his mouth as he’s watching James get angrier and angrier for him. “Anyway, now you know,” he says and stumps his cigarette. “Shall we go back in?”
> 
> “I might be down for another drink, yeah,” James says.
> 
> It turns out he’s down for many drinks yet.

 

He’s always felt a little bit protective of Richard, and he’s felt silly about it, because Richard is a grown man fully capable of taking care of himself. He is a fighty little man, and James is pretty sure he wouldn’t shy away from taking on a professional boxer if he said something offensive about his wife or his daughters or his height or the 911. Still, there has been times over the course of the years when James has wanted to just hold Richard close and tell him sweet nothings.

It is funny, really, that it’s only occurring to him now that his feelings for Richard might be something more than just friendly. He supposes he has never quite allowed his thoughts go that far. James thinks it’s somehow fucked up that it took Hammond nearly dying in a high-speed crash for him to be able to own up to his feelings. But then that’s exactly like James – he isn’t called Captain Slow for nothing.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richard, desperate to return to normal life following his accident, decides to take James and Jeremy camping.

Richard

He is mostly back to himself. He thinks. He can’t be sure, obviously. He can’t _know_ , and it bothers him more than he cares to put into words. Trying not to think about it too much, he goes back to his everyday routines, cooking and cleaning (well, neither of those, really, even though Mindy keeps jokingly insisting that before the accident he was incredibly keen on doing both those things) and building and fixing stuff in his downstairs shed. But the more he tries not to think about it, the more it bubbles and swirls around in the back of his mind, making him itchy and anxious, and unable to relax.

He tries to fill his days with things to do, because the quiet moments are the worst ones. He can’t bear them, hyperaware of himself and how everyone regards him in those situations. Everybody is examining him, trying to see whether he is the Richard he used to be, and it’s slowly driving Richard mad. He can see from the way Mindy flinches when he loses his temper that she isn’t sure if Richard is _really_ himself – and it kills him a little bit inside, each time.

He would like to hold her close and tell her he is alright, that he is better than he has ever been, but he isn’t too convinced it’s actually true.

He feels disconnected, somehow. People keep coming up to him, clapping him on the shoulder and going, “Oh Hammond you old bugger! You lucky bastard!” and Richard knows he should agree, he should be counting his lucky stars and thanking the gods in heaven he doesn’t really believe in and swearing in the name of guardian angels. But he isn’t, because he doesn’t feel he has been too lucky at all. Surely, _surely_ , had he been that lucky he wouldn’t have crashed in the first place? He wouldn’t have spent time in coma? In the hospital, not knowing who he was or who the people closest to him were? Surely he wouldn’t still be having horrific, mind-numbing nightmares about his crash? And surely he would feel a little better about surviving it.

He looks in the mirror and barely recognises who he sees there. It scares him more than he would admit to anyone. What he is really desperate to do is to go back to his life properly – he just wants another series of Top Gear to roll around so he can forget all of this, so he can listen to Clarkson go on about the newest Ferrari and just be who he used to be without someone constantly checking in on him, watching him, guarding him, evaluating him.

He sighs and pulls out his phone from the pocket of his jeans.

“Hammond!” Jeremy says when he picks up.

“Jeremy Clarkson,” Richard replies, feeling a smile spread on his face. It falls off quickly though, as he realises Jeremy is probably expecting him to speak, and Richard has absolutely no idea what to say. Realising he hadn’t thought this through at all, Richard scratches his face, sighing.

“Tired?” Jeremy asks, not unkindly.

Richard nods stupidly and then hurries to say, “Yeah. A bit. It’s just that everything is a bit much lately.” He hadn’t meant to say that, and he cringes slightly as the words drop out of his mouth.

Jeremy hums understandingly, though. “I’m no brain expert, mate, but I’m pretty sure that’s completely normal.” He pauses. “I think we should have a big boys’ night out. Celebrate you not being dead.”

Ah. Richard had wondered when he would have to have this particular conversation.

“Yeah, about that,” Richard starts. “I’ve been banned from drinking. Two years.”

Jeremy’s squeak is nothing short of comical. Richard snorts. “Yeah,” he says.

Jeremy recovers quicker than Richard would ever have guessed. “You’d better make damn sure you don’t drink then, Hamster,” he says, voice full of concern and Richard _hates_ it. “Nevertheless, I can drink and so can James, so I still think we should have a big boys’ night out.”

“How big are the boys?” Richard asks.

“Funny,” Jeremy says. “Funny.”

“Can we go camping?” Richard asks, the idea lighting a big light bulb over his head. That’s what he needs – to get away from it all a bit, with his mates, without cameras or a crew following them around. Just the three of them and the wilderness. Before Jeremy can tell him no, Richard adds, “Please, Jezza, please, please, please, can we go camping, please?”

He feels a bit evil, as he is quite sure Jeremy isn’t going to deny him this, not now, and he knows James will come if Jeremy does. The puzzle all comes together in his head.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Jeremy says, exasperated. “You’d better pick a really fucking nice place and I am going to be hammered the whole time, making fun of you not being able to do that,” he says, and hangs up on Richard.

Richard beams, genuinely happy for the first time in days and days. He punches in a text to James and Jeremy to tell them they are leaving on Friday, at seven am. He is sure Jeremy will fill James in on the details. Grinning, Richard crams the phone back into his pocket and runs upstairs to make plans.

 

On Friday morning, it rains. It is England, so it’s predictable enough, but still it puts a strain on the successful beginning of their trip. Richard pulls out on James’ driveway at exactly ten past nine – yes, so much for the seven am kick off - and honks the horn once, managing to summon a very pissed off looking James outside.

By the time James makes his way to sit next to Richard on the front seat though, he is smiling. “You idiot, Hammond,” he says. “It’s practically the middle of the night and you are honking your horn in what is a neighbourhood consisting of mostly elderly people.”

“Oops,” Richard says in a way that he hopes is charming and endearing. He probably doesn’t succeed in that, though, as James just shakes his head at him. Richard grins. “Fasten your seatbelt, we have to pick up an oversized gorilla.”

“I would say, actually, that for a gorilla Jez is quite reasonably sized.”

“And next up, we have to put a star in our reasonably sized gorilla,” Richard mumbles under his breath and James laughs and it feels good – Richard already feels like a bit of normality has been restored in his life and he is unutterably grateful for it.

“So, how have you been?” James asks awkwardly and Richard’s world goes upside down in a matter of seconds. There it is, again, the unavoidable, inevitable question that he has spent the last days and weeks dreading. He doesn’t have an answer for it, and he most definitely doesn’t have the answer for it that the people asking the question want to hear. Richard tries to steady his breathing, focusing on the road. He can feel James’ eyes on him, searching from his body language the answers Richard is so reluctant to give.

“Fine,” Richard grits out with difficulty.

“Right,” James says quickly. “Sorry,” he adds quietly, turning away from Richard to look out the window, the raindrops sledging over the passenger window.

Richard wants to apologise as well, for being so crude and for everything, really. He hates himself for having put his family and friends through this hell, and he hates that he isn’t more capable of helping them with it now. The words don’t come, though, so he keeps silent, trying not to look as sullen as he feels, snapping the radio on with a flick of his finger on the steering wheel, turning the volume up with another.

The music is loud enough that neither of them feel the need to speak, but Richard is painfully aware that it’s not the most comfortable silence they have ever shared, in fact it’s not even close to that; the silence is strained, and awkward, and the need to break it is building inside of Richard with every passing minute. He keeps catching James glancing at him sideways, and it burns his skin, makes his throat close up. As he stops the car in front of Jeremy’s house, he thinks idly whether all of this was actually nothing but a big mistake.

Jeremy seems to think so, judging from the face he pulls as he steps out of his house. He points to the sky theatrically and mouths a very dramatic, “WHY?”

“I will never be able to even begin to understand your love for camping, Hammond,” he says as he climbs into the car after throwing his stuff – mostly bottles of highly intoxicating alcohol, Richard is sure – to the boot of the car.

“There are many things you will never be able to even begin to understand, to be fair,” Richard says and turns the ignition key.

“So, where are we going?” Jeremy asks. “Anywhere nice? It’d better be somewhere nice.”

“I’m going to enjoy it,” Richard says, smiling a lop-sided smile, looking at Jeremy’s expression though the rear-view mirror. He looks apprehensive, to say the least, and for some reason that lifts Richard’s spirits considerably. He lets out a little laugh, pressing a little harder on the accelerator, and for one moment doesn’t mind feeling James’ eyes on him, because it’s like it used to be: the two of them sharing a moment together, laughing at Jeremy’s expense. It is surprisingly comforting, and Richard hadn’t realised he’d missed it so much.

The drive goes comfortably enough, with the three of them bickering and arguing over absolutely nothing that actually matters, with Richard having to pull over at every gas station they encounter because of James’ prematurely weak bladder.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Jeremy says, when they stop for the fifth time. “You haven’t even been drinking anything.”

James grunts something under his breath about having drunk some last night, and Jeremy sighs, making his way towards the little shop. Richard stays behind, drumming his fingers on the wheel along with Billy Talent blasting from the radio.

Five minutes or so later, James gets back in the car, looking positively apologetic. Richard just gives him a small smile, and they wait for Jeremy in what is, for change, a very nice and pleasant little silence. It doesn’t hang over them; it just feels like they are sharing a moment, tasting the day each in their own way.

Jeremy comes back with a lot of noise and a plastic bag. “I’ve got gifts!” he says, and Richard rubs a hand over his face. He is secretly pleased, though. Nothing has changed, and it’s exactly how he needs to feel right now. “Nothing extravagant,” Jeremy says when he notices James’ doubtful expression. “Just, I’ve bought Hammond a bottle of lemonade that he can sullenly sip on while we are getting very drunk indeed.” Jeremy hands him a bottle of something neon-coloured and fairly disgusting looking but he nods and thanks him for the nice gesture in a patented, dry yet grateful way.

“And James, I’ve got you…” he says and pulls an item out of the bag. Richard’s breath hitches in his throat and then he bursts out in loud, uncontrollable giggles and he almost honks the horn accidentally in the process. “A pair of lady trousers.” Jeremy finishes as Richard’s laughter has faded enough for him to speak and be heard.

James looks completely speechless and his eyes have widened to three times their normal size. Looking at him, Richard can’t help another bout of giggles. “Jeremy, you’ve bought your male co-presenter a pair of, well, let’s face it, _strings_ from a fucking gas station,” he wheezes. “I’m going to enjoy reading the Daily Mail tomorrow.”

“Why aren’t you saying anything, James?” Jeremy asks, teasing. “The first time you’ve seen one of these?” Jeremy waves the strings in the air, right in front of James’ wrinkled nose.

Plastic and as they are and an uncomfortable shade of pink, Richard is somewhat certain it might indeed be the first time James has set his eyes on something like that; at the very least, it’s the first time Richard’s seen anything of the sort.

“They are incredibly, unutterably unappealing,” Richard says gleefully. He shoots a sideways glance at James who is nodding furiously, apparently still at loss for words.

After a few more beats of Richard laughing and Jeremy looking unimaginably pleased with himself, James seems to finally be able to form sentences.

“Thank you very much, Clarkson,” he says. “I never knew you could get these from a gas station. Why you looked at these in the shop and thought you had to buy them probably doesn’t bear closer examining but I am very touched.” He takes the strings from Jeremy, pinching them between his thumb and forefinger and cramming them into his jacket pocket.

“Wouldn’t leave them there if I were you, mate,” Richard notes, “I can just imagine Sarah stumbling upon them and you trying to explain that _Jeremy_ bought them for you.” He considers this for a moment. “No, actually, leave them there, please, that would pretty much be all the entertainment I need, like, this decade.”

“Yes, alright, thank you,” James says. “You should probably start the car before I have to use the bathroom again.”

“I will be very disturbed if you go and use the bathroom now,” Jeremy remarks and Richard shakes his head forcefully.

“No! I don’t want those images, thank you very much,” he says, but it’s already too late – images of James, cheeks flushed and expression pained, a pair of strings clutched tight in his left hand, his cock fisted in his right one –

Shit.

Well, at least Richard has definitely regained the power of day-dreaming, so that should be a positive to focus on, right? That and definitely not the fact he just had inappropriate thoughts about James, of all people. Awkward, long-limbed, spaniel-haired, his best friend James, who is kind, and funny, and gorgeous -

Shit, oh shit.

He pushes the thoughts to the back of his mind. This is not the time to examine them any further. There’s a twinge to his chest when he considers the possibility of brain damage and then another when he realises it’s not exactly the first time he’s had those sort of ideas about James.

He absolutely refuses to continue thinking, turns the volume of the radio up once more and focuses on driving. They are almost there, and then maybe he can take a walk and have a bit of fresh air and forget about any and all nonsense.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am actually quite fond of this chapter. I hope you will like it, too! :)

James

He’s glad when they finally make it to the camp site Richard had been thinking of. The atmosphere in the car had started to be a bit much for him, and not just because Jeremy had given him a pair of supposedly sexy ladies’ underwear.

James looks around, pleased with what he sees around him. The place is absolutely stunning, there’s a tiny bit of beach and the edge of a forest near-by. He can hear the birds and more importantly, he can’t hear the traffic; it feels refreshing, the illusion of getting away from everything man-made, even if they are just a couple of miles off the nearest highway. Breathing in deep, James listens – to the whooshing of the wind, the singing of the birds and, inevitably, the bickering of his two mates.

Richard is trying to put the tent up and Jeremy is being no help whatsoever. James keeps his distance. For now he’s content to just observe and gather his thoughts.

The reality catches up with him quicker than he would like, though, when Richard shouts out a very demanding, “JAMES! Get your fucking ass over here if you don’t want to sleep outside,” and James supposes he will have to go and help put the tent up.

“Alright, alright,” he says, to himself mostly. Together with Hammond, after telling Jeremy to just keep away and not get involved – which, James supposes, Jeremy is absolutely fine with and which probably had been his goal all along – they get the tent up in a matter of minutes. It’s not a very large tent, and James is momentarily confused, because he knows Richard owns a bigger one.

“Did you bring two tents?” he asks slowly.

Richard looks at him as if he’s stupid. “No,” he replies shortly, every part of him signalling that he doesn’t want to discuss it further.

James wants to ask why, but thinks better of it. If Richard wants the three of them to cram themselves in a small tent, then that is fine with James, as long as he doesn’t have to be the one to sleep in the middle, since he figures that might become nerve-wrecking quite soon. Silently, and pathetically, as he adds to himself, he hopes that he will get to sleep next to Richard. He feels very much like a fourteen year old girl, thinking that, but he isn’t hurting anyone with that simple wish and he isn’t going to deny it from himself. Even if it makes him a bit of a cock and an all-around shady person, which he thinks it probably does.

He should have guessed that Jeremy would bring up the issue, in all fairness. He takes a few hundred feet of tactical distance from the argument when he sees it brewing; when he comes back from his little walk he is sullenly informed by Richard that Jeremy is insisting not to be the one to sleep in the middle. James cringes, and Richard rolls his eyes.

“Alright, alright! I’ll sleep in the middle. For fuck’s sake,” Richard says and stomps off.

James shrugs. It seems to have worked out rather well for him, and he hardly had to put any effort in it at all.

They cook and they bicker and Jeremy and James drink. They are lying on the ground around a small fire and James feels warm and content, and to be perfectly honest with himself, James is starting to get pretty comfortably buzzed as well. Jeremy’s variety of liqueurs is starting to get to him.

They talk about everything and nothing in particular at the same time and it’s just how James likes it. With a splinter right through his heart he realises how _lucky_ he is, to be still able to have this. There was a time, not long ago, that he couldn’t have imagined anything like this from the fear of losing Richard, and now that he gets to have it again – he really couldn’t be happier.

The more he drinks, the more his glances escape to Richard. He has always known Richard is a good-looking man, very much so; but it’s as if he is now seeing him in a completely different light to before. He sees the wrinkles around his eyes when he laughs and finds them endearing, wants to run his fingers over his lips when he speaks. James is pretty sure he has never before took notice to how many buttons of Richard’s shirt have been left unbuttoned, but now he knows it’s two, and he likes how he can see the tiniest bit of Richard’s collar bone underneath.

He watches as Richard flutters his eyelashes ever so slightly when he blinks sometimes, and wonders how it’s possible for him to look so tanned after having spent so much time lying in the hospital bed. There’s a stray bit of hay stuck in Hammond’s hair, and James desperately wants to reach out and pick it out, but he’s not drunk enough not to think that would be a bit weird. Eventually, Richard runs a hand through his hair and the bit of hay falls on his shoulder.

James can’t stop watching him.

James takes another sip of his drink, idly wondering whether this is how it feels like to go insane.

As the night goes on, James begins to notice a certain kind of tightness appearing to Richard’s features. He sees it in the way his voice sounds just a little bit strained when he talks, the way his jaw is set, as if he’s clenching his teeth together, and the way his laughter dies just a bit too early after Jeremy cracks a joke. It makes James very uneasy. He forces his eyes off Hammond and goes back to his drink, stares at the fire instead. It’s mesmerising. Just not in quite the same way as Richard is.

Without his permission, his eyes turn back to look at Richard. James’ breath hitches in his throat as he realises Richard is looking right back, their eyes locking.

Jeremy is speaking, but James is sure neither of them are listening, having their own, wordless conversation instead. His heart rate picks up as he begins to realise that Richard is angry, his eyes are filled with venom and James wants to tear his gaze away, but he can’t.

Richard nods towards the edge of the forest and looks away. In the next couple of seconds James has just enough time to wonder whether he’d imagined the whole thing, until Richard cuts Jeremy’s babbling off with a very aggressive, “I’m going to take a piss.” He stands up and looks at James once, expectantly and fury glazing his every movement. He walks away with quick, determined steps, and it’s all James can do not to start gaping.

“What the hell is his problem?” Jeremy asks him.

James shakes his head. He has no idea. “I shall find out,” he says, standing up. His limbs all feel like they have forgotten how to function. Feeling like he’s making his way to a dragon’s lair, he walks after Hammond to the darkness.

When James finally reaches him, Richard is leaning against a pine, his arms folded across his chest. He is breathing in quick, ragged, and quite angry puffs, clearly waiting for James to talk first.

James swallows. “Mate, are you alright?” he asks in a calm, quiet voice. For the first time that day, he hears the doctor’s voice in his head, clear as day. _Personality changes in these kind of brain injuries are common… there might be difficulties with the handling of some emotions – anger, for instance…_

Suddenly, he feels completely out of his depth and just a little bit intimidated. Not because he thinks Richard would hurt him, James is utterly sure he never would. But James doesn’t like confrontation, doesn’t like the strain they have the potential to put on a relationship. He and Richard have always clicked and they’ve never had to make any compromises for it, and James hopes this isn’t the beginning of them having to make one.

“I am, and that is the whole fucking point!” Richard says, the volume and speed of his speech raising with every word he lets out. “Can you just… Just fucking stop, James. Stop fucking tip-toeing around me and looking at me like I’m about to burst in fucking half every given second! Like you are not sure if I am still –“ Richard pauses, cutting himself off mid-sentence. His eyes are flaming and he’s breathing fast and James has never known what to do less than he does now.

“Richard, I –“

“Shut up. I think I am okay, and that’s the best I can give you right now, alright? Because I can’t fucking know, can I? I can’t promise you that I’m all back to normal because – fucking hell, you should be telling me that! _Am_ I still me? How the fuck would I know?” Richard is shaking slightly, now, and James just wants to take a step forward and give him a hug. Those sort of urges don’t come to him very often, and he’s too afraid to act on it, too afraid to do anything but to stare at Richard with his mouth half-open.

“And the whole point of this,” Richard says, waving at the camp, “was for me to get away from it all for a bit. To stop fucking thinking about it all the time. I can’t sleep because I’m constantly thinking about it. And I thought it was working, but, James, I can’t stop thinking about it if you are sitting there, next to me, thinking about it so loudly people in South Africa could hear you.”

“I wasn’t –“

“Shut up. You have been looking at me the whole night, trying to figure out if I’m alright. Don’t lie to me.”

“I –“ James starts. It seems he has arrived to a particularly unpleasant cul-de-sac. It’s not exactly true, what Richard is saying, but James can’t correct him without telling him why he’s been so busy ogling at him for the better part of the night and there’s no way James wants to have that conversation now that Richard is so close to punching him anyway (not that James wants to have that conversation ever, period, thank you very much). He seems to take too much time contemplating this, because Richard appears to be getting angrier at him by the second.

“Fuck you,” Richard says. “Just fuck you. You always think you know everything best, don’t you? Well guess what, you don’t. Just stop fucking trying.” He steps closer to James and stares at him with fire burning in his eyes, and for a moment James thinks Richard might hit him after all. His instincts are telling him to take a step back, but somehow he can’t bring himself to do it.

“I’m sorry, Richard,” he says. It something, and he is glad that’s what comes out of his mouth instead of anything incriminating.

It’s as if Richard crumbles down right in front of him: the fury in his eyes dies away at James’ words, his shoulders slump and he sighs, long and exasperated. James takes a step closer, puts a tentative hand on his friend’s elbow, tugging slightly.

“I really am. Sorry.” James repeats, and Richard turns his head slightly to look at him with wide, earnest eyes.

“No,” he says, softly, a complete turn-around from how he had been speaking just seconds earlier. “You have no reason to be sorry. I’m sorry. God, I’m such a fucking dick –“ Richard buries his face in his hands, and James slings an arm around his shoulders, squeezing Richard slightly against his side.

“I’m used to you being a cock, Hammond, no reason to be sorry about that,” he says, a vain attempt to diffuse the situation. Richard is shaking slightly against his side, and it’s killing him. He wants to turn him around and push him against the tree once again and kiss him until he can’t breathe, and the thought of that scares him, only not quite as much as the way Richard seems to be breaking down right next to him and James not being able to help him in any way.

“It’s just that,” Richard says, his voice pained and small. “I want to be sure that I am okay, but nobody knows.”

James squeezes him a little bit tighter at that.

They stand there, side by side, for a few minutes. James listens to the sounds coming all around them, the creaks and the rustling and the whoosh of the wind in the leaves. Hammond is a steady warmth against his side, and in that moment James loves him so much it aches, twists his insides around in ways that he has never experienced before.

They don’t talk much after that. When they return to Jeremy he looks at James with questioning eyes, but doesn’t say anything – a gesture for which James is very grateful. He doesn’t want to even start trying to explain what is going on with him and Hammond. Partly because he isn’t sure he knows it himself. They scoot to their respective sleeping bags pretty soon after that, Jeremy making a fuss about it, dragging his sleeping bag to the very corner of the tent and proclaiming that he doesn’t want any funny man touching business happening, threatening he has Daily Mail on speed dial.

That night James watches as Richard sleeps and wonders what it would be like to wake up next to him every morning for the rest of his life. The thought should feel suffocating, usually even the thought of any change in any area of his life is enough to make him a ball of anxiety, but somehow this doesn’t. It scares him, though, makes him wonder what has gotten into him – he is not a young man any longer by any stretch of imagination. Yet, what he seems to be doing is like from a teenager’s diary. James May, pining over someone he couldn’t possibly ever have. It hurts, too.

Richard kicks him in his sleep and James takes it as a sign from the above. He finally closes his eyes and sleeps.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of his crash, Richard has trouble sleeping.

Richard

So, in hindsight, the camping idea might not have been the best one he has ever come up with.

Still, as he turns the key in the lock of his house, he thinks he feels a bit better. A bit steadier. A little less all over the place. His thoughts seem to be more contained and in order – although he isn’t quite sure he likes the order they seem to be settling themselves in.

“Mindy?” he calls out as he steps in, but he gets no reply. No dogs come barking to his feet, so he gathers Mindy is probably out with them and the kids somewhere. He finds he doesn’t really mind. A moment of absolute silence feels like a welcome idea to him. He sighs, stretches his arms and makes his way to the kitchen and puts the kettle on. After all he doesn’t think there’s anything in the world that a cup of tea and a few moments of peace and quiet can’t solve, or at least improve. He finds himself humming a song under his breath, his spirits higher than they ought to be, really.

He makes a plan to take James out for a dinner sometime, to apologise for his idiotic behaviour. He still doesn’t know what got into him but he feels ashamed beyond himself, even though James had been nice enough to say he didn’t mind at all, that he understood. Still, the fact remains that Richard had acted like an absolute cock and lashed out on him without any reason whatsoever – any bits of reason he had thought he had, well. He isn't entirely sure he hadn’t been completely imagining James looking at him eyes filled with worry. And even if he had been, given Richard’s current, apparently completely unpredictable behaviour and violent mood swings, who could blame him? And yet he had blamed James, yet he had said things that he hadn’t meant, and hadn’t said things that James would have deserved to hear. _Thank you for looking after Mindy and the girls when I couldn’t. Thank you for being there for me. Thank you for being you. I love you._

Richard flinches slightly at his own thoughts and pours some of the boiling water on the table by accident. Swearing, he takes a paper towel and wipes it off.

He is starting to think maybe he does need therapy. It had been very strongly recommended to him upon him leaving the hospital, and despite Richard’s insistent resistance they had agreed on a date. Up until now Richard had just assumed that he would bail on it, call in sick or just not go, but he’s starting to think maybe it might be a good idea, to try and talk some of this through with someone that gets paid to come up with possible solutions for him. To be honest, Richard doesn’t think he will be able to completely open up to a stranger; he isn’t much of a sharing sort of person. But maybe putting even something he has been feeling lately into words could help and make him feel less like everything is slipping away from his fingertips.

He thinks about it more and more as the week goes on. He thinks about it when he hugs is wife and is unable to feel anything, thinks about it when he’s playing with his little girls incapable of finding any joy from it, thinks about it when he doesn’t sleep at night, and he thinks about it when he knows normally he would be going for a run or for a ride on his bicycle but now just lies on the sofa and flicks through day time television idly.

Mindy worries about him, he knows, so he tries not to let any of it show, but he can’t be sure if he is being all that successful with it. Even the prospect of worrying her doesn’t seem to be able to put him to his senses. Instead he goes through his days in a haze, feeling numb and stupid and utterly useless.

He has slept for three hours total in the past two nights, and he is afraid of going to sleep. He doesn’t think he will be able to fall asleep, and he worries what might happen to him if he doesn’t; surely three nights in a row would be too much, surely something would snap. He has sometimes had trouble with insomnia before the accident, so it’s not a completely new experience, but he has never had it so bad, and he has never had to try and conquer it without the aid of alcohol. When he flicks off the bedside lamp that evening and listens to Mindy’s breathing turn steady and deep and a little bit louder, his heart starts beating fast and heavy in his chest, an irregular rhythm that makes his fingers tingle with anxiety.

 _Breathe, Hammond,_ he tells himself and closes his eyes, opens them again before long and starts staring at the ceiling.

He tries not to roll over too much because he doesn’t want to disturb Mindy’s sleep. Eventually not moving feels like too much and Richard flings his legs off the bed and tip-toes out of the room as quietly as he can. It’s likely that he could have stomped off the room and Mindy wouldn’t have been bothered – once she had quite notoriously slept through an actual fire alarm – but at the same time, Richard doesn’t want to take any chances. He knows that if Mindy woke up, she would force him to open up, and Richard doesn’t think he could handle that without breaking down.

He sits on the cold kitchen chair and stares at his hands. He feels so cold, and everything is a bit surreal. Every part of his body is screaming for sleep, but a part of Richard’s brain has refused to shut up and is keeping him awake. Richard hugs himself tight, and that’s when his phone lights up.

_1 new message. Open now?_

Richard presses _Ok_ and sees the message is from James.

_we’ve been cleared for another series!! x_

Richard lets out a breath. It feels like a ten ton truck has been lifted off his shoulders: he hadn’t realised just how much he had stressed over the fact that BBC might have axed Top Gear solely because of _him_ , that he might have ruined the best thing that had ever happened to him, and not just for himself but for James and Jeremy as well. He starts to type a reply but nothing comes out. He sets the phone on the table and goes to find a pen and a piece of paper.

Jumping into his oldest pair of jeans and a faded t-shirt, he writes a quick note to Mindy. He has a vague feeling he will most certainly regret this in the morning, but for now he doesn’t care.

_I’m going out. Need some air. Love you. Please don’t worry, I’m ok. Love, R._

He draws a heart after the R for good measure, grabs his keys and heads outside.

He is only slightly aware that he probably shouldn’t be driving in his current state.

Still, what’s the worst that could happen?

He supposes he might crash.

But then that’d be luck too rotten even for him.

So he climbs in his Porsche and drives off.

Driving, for him, is relaxing. For the first time in days he feels like he is in his element. He doesn’t put the radio on, doesn’t want anything to distract him from the road, and besides, he really enjoys the sound the engine makes when he presses his foot down.

It’s almost too short a journey to James’ house, even when it takes him the better part of an hour. He pulls his phone from his pocket, punches in a text.

_you awake?_

He doesn’t have to wait long for the reply.

_yeah. can’t sleep. :/ I didnt wake you did i_

Richard doesn’t reply to the question. Instead he writes,

_you alone?_

It takes a little bit longer for James to reply to that. Richard can almost see him in his mind’s eye, furrowing his brows, squinting at his phone. The reply comes with a buzz of his phone.

_yeah, why Hammond_

Richard doesn’t reply. Instead he turns the key in the ignition and pulls it off, climbs out of the car and locks it behind himself. With quick steps that leave no room for hesitation, he makes his way to James’ door and knocks forcefully, once, twice, three times.

He stands there, not quite knowing what to do with his hands or what to say when James comes to open the door for him. It takes a long time for James to come answer the door, and Richard is just about to raise his hand for another demanding set of knocks when the door suddenly opens, a wide-eyed James with his hair all over the place staring at him.

“Richard,” he says dully, and only steps back from the door frame when Richard pushes him aside, a steady hand on James’ chest.

“Surprise,” Richard says meekly, not really sure what to do with himself now that he’s got here. This might have been the stupidest idea he has had, yet.

James is wearing an oversized t-shirt, so big it looks rather like a hideous dress. Richard opens his mouth to point this out, but James is quicker.

“What are you doing here, man? Is everything okay?”

That’s the million dollar question. Richard cringes, takes his jacket off and carefully puts it to the hanger. He proceeds to take off his shoes, placing them neatly on the shoe rack.

James is watching him carefully. “I think that has answered it for me,” he says, his voice full of worry. “You have just entered my house without throwing your clothes all over my front room. You are definitely not all right.”

Richard shrugs. “Maybe I’ve just learnt something,” he says. “Maybe I just wanted to be nice, for once,” he adds, as an afterthought.

“It’s half two in the morning, Hammond. What’s going on?”

James’ eyes are a piercing, icy shade of blue and Richard almost hates him then, despises him for trying to figure Richard out instead of doing what he so obviously ought to do and throwing Richard out of his house.

Richard shrugs again. He thinks that words might let him down or even betray him. He thinks that if he opens his mouth now there’s no guarantees of what is going to come out, and Richard isn’t sure he can afford to take that chance.

“God, Hammond,” James says, under his breath. “Come on, then, let’s go inside at least.”

Richard follows James into the kitchen, sits down on the familiar chair and buries his head in his hands. He is slightly regretting coming here, now. While it had seemed like a good idea at the time, now it just feels like a weird thing to have done, especially as he is failing to come up with any good reason for his sudden appearance.

“Richard?” James asks and Richard looks up. “A cup of tea?”

Richard closes his eyes and nods. He could use the warmth. Besides, he can sense James is going to try and get him to say things, and sipping at something is always a good tactic to try and buy a bit of time, to think first and then talk and not the other way around. The sound of the kettle boiling sooths Richard in a weird way and he can sense himself starting to relax. He lets out a deep breath that he hadn’t realised he’d been holding.

James pours him a cup of hot water and hands him a tea bag. It’s expensive, poncey stuff, probably from Harrods or something equally ridiculous and fancy and not at all James-like, and in any other situation Richard would have mocked him mercilessly for it. Now he just doesn’t seem to have the energy to, so instead of opening his mouth he drops the tea bag into the liquid, stirs the water with his little spoon and watches as the colour of the water starts to turn into a shade of reddish brown.

James sits down opposite him, and starts his process of waiting until his tea is gone disgustingly cold before drinking it. He doesn’t speak, which is slightly odd but not disconcerting. Richard likes the silence. Where there’s silence there’s rarely any blame, and for that Richard is very grateful.

Richard gulps down his tea and burns his tongue. Figures.

“So, green light for new series,” James says, tentatively, his eyes focused on Richard.

Richard nods and finds he has to clear his throat before speaking. “Yes,” he says. “I’m very happy about that.”

“Oh, good,” James says and lets out a breath. “You know, for a moment I was sure you were here to tell me you were going to quit.” James looks slightly guilty about saying that.

Richard shakes his head forcefully. “I would never,” Richard says. “I could never.”

“I would have understood,” James says, “I really, really would have. But god, I would have missed it.”

“ _You_ needn'thave quit,” Richard points out, taking another sip of his tea, looking at James from under his lashes. James is smiling slightly.

“Maybe, but I would have,” he says. “The thought of enduring Clarkson by myself would have just been too much to handle.”

“You could have hired another short accident-prone bloke,” Richard says, almost sullenly. “No one would have noticed.”

“I would have,” James says strongly. “Richard, you don’t have to, but -- I hope you know you can tell me anything, right? I can even make a promise of no laughing and no mocking, no mucking about, if it helps, I just –“

“I can’t sleep,” Richard blurts out, partly to cut James off because he can’t stand it, can’t take the pity or the compassion when he so strongly feels he doesn’t deserve any of it. “This is the third night. Three hours is all I’ve got, and even that was mostly nightmares. I can’t sleep, James.”

James looks at him steadily for a few seconds. “I take it you haven’t talked to your doctor about this?” he asks calmly. It’s really unfair how collected James seems to be when Richard feels like he’s at a point where a single word or touch or look could shatter him to millions of tiny pieces.

Richard shakes his head. To be honest the thought hasn’t even occurred to him, because he’s been so busy blaming himself for his inability to get sleep.

“I think you should,” James says. “Regardless of whether you get any sleep tonight or tomorrow night, you should.”

“Yeah,” Richard says with a lump in his throat. The way James’ eyes are soft around the edges when he looks at Richard and how gentle and kind the tone of his voice is when he speaks is almost too much to handle. Richard finds he wants to curl up in a corner and have a little cry. He clears his throat and taps his finger to the side of his tea mug anxiously.

“How have you been, otherwise?” James asks, like he knows. Richard wonders whether he is really that easy to read or whether James has just taken up reading minds as a part time job. Feeling exposed, Richard bites the inside of his lower lip, unable to answer the question in a way that won’t be an outright lie.

“Not too good,” he says, several beats too late, and in the tiniest of voices. “I feel detached and confused and angry. Numb and unutterably useless. James.”

“Fuck, Hammond. You should have told me.” James stands up abruptly, and snatches Richard’s cup from his hands, the tips of their fingers touching in the process. “The last thing you need is caffeine,” James mumbles and washes Richard’s mug quickly by the sink. His movements seem measured and calm, but Richard senses things are happening under the surface. With a twinge to his chest, Richard wonders whether James is angry with him: he can’t imagine why he would be, but he is sure that if James is, he has a valid reason for it. Richard has been handing out a lot of reasons, lately.

James flicks the kettle back on, and has a rummage through his cupboard. “Camomile,” he says when he notices Richard’s questioning gaze.

Richard wrinkles his nose. “I don’t like camomile.”

“Tough,” James says, unwavered. “You are drinking it. Hopefully, it will help you to get some sleep.”

“Right,” Richard says. He is too tired to argue, so instead he just watches as James prepares him a cup of tea. If Richard’s is having trouble tearing his eyes from James’ hands, he blames it solely on the exhaustion. James has really nice hands, long, expert fingers. His arms are long, too, and Richard knows that if James wanted to, he could wrap them around Richard very tight.

“There you go,” James says after a while, and hands him a cup. His voice is so gentle it brings the lump right back in Richard’s throat and he swallows around it, trying to force it away. James touches Richard’s shoulder lightly and then moves to sit on the chair opposite him. For a moment their eyes are locked, Richard feeling like James can see right through him, will be able to see all of his darkest secrets just by looking at him like that.

“You look tense,” James says, observantly.

Richard cringes. He _is_ tense, his shoulders cramped and feeling like they are permanently glued somewhere near his ears. His chest feels tight and he can barely turn his head from the pain in his neck and his back hurts when he stands. It’s like all of his muscles have decided to turn against him.

“Yeah, my neck is killing me,” Richard says softly and takes a tentative sip of his camomile tea. It tastes just as disgusting as he remembers, but he forces it down and tries not to wince. He isn’t sure he quite succeeds, because James looks at him with pitying eyes.

“Do you want sugar with that?” he asks, an eyebrow raised, and Richard nods. He hardly thinks it will make it any better, but it won’t hurt to try.

James goes to get him a bowl of sugar and after a moment he sets it in front of Richard on the table. Then, surprisingly, he scoots behind Richard and sets his hands on Richard’s shoulders. His hands are warm through the thin layer of clothing and a shiver goes down Richard’s spine. James gives his shoulders a tentative rub, his thumbs going in large circles.

“You really are tense,” James says lowly. “Try to relax…”

Richard is embarrassed to hear a small whimper escape him. He closes his eyes, focusing on the way James’ hands feel on him, working over the knots on his shoulders and neck. It feels so much better than Richard could have imagined, the mixtures of pain and pleasure radiating all over his body. He tries to focus on breathing, but before long he feels like he might pass out.

“Uhh,” he lets out, throwing his head forwards to ensure some blood flow to it. “So good, James, don’t stop,” he says, and if it sounds completely unlike him and less than manly, he blames it on not having slept for three days. “Please, oh god.”

“Jesus, Hammond,” James says, sounding breathless. He is working his thumbs in small circles in the nape of Richard’s neck, and it feels incredibly good, right up to the pit of his stomach where he feels warm and tingly. Richard doesn’t want to ruin the moment by trying to analyse it too much, it _could_ be just friendly and that’s good enough for him, for now, and if his cock stirs in interest then it’s just probably only the feeling of being touched after a long while of having gone without it.

“Oh god, you are good at that,” Richard mumbles. He can hear James breathing behind him, he is _so close_ Richard can smell him, can differentiate between James’ soap and his shampoo and what is probably just purely him. James’ hands are strong, yet surprisingly gentle on him, and Richard is sure not much more of this and it would result in him becoming a little puddle on the floor.

He has a vague feeling he should be putting a lid on this now, while things haven’t gone too weird yet.

Although, he supposes, ‘too weird’ is awfully subjective. Some might say getting half-hard because your friend is helping with your neck and shoulder issues by giving you a little shoulder massage has already crossed the line to ‘too weird’ by miles.

James’ thoughts seem to be traveling roughly along the same lines as his (although minus the hard-on bit, Richard thinks – hopes), because he stops, his hands coming to a halt on Richard’s shoulders and lifting off. Instantly Richard misses the way James’ hands had felt on him, longs after the warmth and the welcome, stress-relieving pressure.

They don’t talk for a while after that, Richard sipping on his rapidly cooling camomile tea, desperate to finish it; James taking back his seat opposite him, observing him.

“Why did you come here tonight, Richard?” James asks after a while. It’s an easy enough question, but Richard has a funny feeling that it’s loaded, that any answer he could give to it would be wrong.

“I don’t know,” he says. He doesn’t know if it’s strictly true, but then he isn’t sure of anything anymore.

James looks at him with something like sadness in his eyes, then sighs and goes to his living-room. Richard follows him idly, sits on the edge of the couch and watches as James sets a game of Monopoly in front him on the table. James sits next to him, then.

“Let’s play,” he says. “As sleeping and drinking are out of question.”

Richard shrugs. “I’m going to be the car,” he says and can’t help grinning when James groans.


	10. Chapter 10

James

When Richard eventually sleeps, it’s already morning and they have spent five hours playing Monopoly. James has won, by miles and miles, with Richard owing both him and the bank more than James would have imagined possible.

As he sleeps, Richard has his head at an awkward angle, his neck twisted in a way that James suspects will lead to more muscle pains. He’s curled around himself, knees drawn close to his chest, arms folded on his chest in a protective manner. Yet he looks utterly vulnerable, his face smooth and innocent and he looks so much younger than his thirty-six years it’s almost astonishing.

James wants to cover him up with a blanket, but he doesn’t want to run the risk of waking him up now that he’s finally managed to fall asleep. He rubs a hand over his face, feels the beginnings of stubble on his chin. He is so tired he can barely see straight but he can’t stop looking at Richard, can’t stop thinking about what a bizarre night it has been. Most of all he would like to know why Richard had decided to drive all the way to James’ house in the middle of the night – had it been just because he’d known James would be awake? Or had it been something else?

He thinks about the way Richard had whimpered under his touch and his belly flips and his breath catches in his throat. Surely he couldn’t have imagined the loaded atmosphere of _that_?

Just as he’s about to give up trying to figure Richard out for the morning, Richard’s phone buzzes on the table, lighting up the room.

James grabs it, determined to hang up on whoever it is in order to protect Richard’s sleep.

He halts when he sees it is Mindy calling, and tip-toes to the kitchen with Richard’s phone, closing the door separating the two rooms behind him as quietly as he can. Then he presses the green button.

“Hi Mindy, it’s James.”

“James?” Mindy says, sounding surprised. “I – he’s there, isn’t he? Is he okay?”

“Yeah,” James says. “He’s sleeping.”

“Oh, okay,” Mindy says, sounding confused. It occurs to James that it’s quite possible that Richard hasn’t been quite honest with her concerning his problems with sleeping. “Is he okay, James?”

James doesn’t know what to say to that. On one hand, he doesn’t want to go behind Richard’s back and he definitely doesn’t want to break Richard’s trust, but on the other hand, Mindy is Richard's _wife_ and obviously worried beside herself, and James thinks she deserves to know.

“I don’t know,” he says honestly. “He says he’s been having trouble sleeping,” he says tentatively, testing the waters.

“I didn’t know that,” Mindy says. She sounds sad. “Why didn’t he tell me that?”

“He probably didn’t want to worry you,” James says. “He didn’t want to tell me, either.”

“He should have told me,” Mindy says.

“I know,” James says.

There’s an awkward silence and James feels completely out of his depth. There’s a hitch of breath from the other end of the line and for one horrifying moment James thinks Mindy might be crying. Luckily, when she speaks, she sounds calm.

“Look after him, James,” she says. “Tell him I love him.”

James promises to do that and they hang up, James left feeling oddly hollow.

When he finally crawls to bed, ready to catch a couple of hours of sleep, he has problems of his own with managing to fall asleep, his mind whirling.


	11. Chapter 11

Jeremy

In the past days he has been on the phone to Andy for hours. He is positively buzzing with excitement, because they are planning the new Top Gear special and it is going to be the most dangerous, most amazing thing they have done, yet. Conquering the arctic, being the first people to drive to the North Pole. Jeremy doesn’t think anything could possibly be any cooler than that, pun intended.

Richard seems to be excited beyond himself, too; Jeremy supposes he is keen to prove himself, keen to show the world that he is still capable of doing mad stuff, that he isn’t _scared_ or irreversibly damaged in any way. Jeremy is completely fine with that. Let the man prove himself if he wants to. After all Jeremy is confident that Richard is indeed capable of sledging over the arctic. He’s usually pretty good at anything he sets his mind on, and Jeremy doesn’t think this will be in any way different.

Besides, Richard is probably safer and better off with a professional holding his hand than Jeremy and James are going to be, in a heavy car that could literally fall through the ice at any moment.

The only one opposed to the plan is James. He has made his opinion on the matter loud and clear – he doesn’t want to do it, claiming he hates the snow, hates the cold, and doesn’t want to die in a horrific accident with Jeremy Clarkson, falling through thin ice in a massive Toyota.

“It’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard of,” he says and stomps off any room the matter is discussed in.

Eventually, Andy gets fed up with it and tells him he’s going to have to do it so he might as well start preparing himself and stop with the whining, because that isn’t going to help him survive should they get attacked by an angry polar bear.

After that James keeps quiet about it for a few days, and Jeremy thinks they might be over the worst of his resistance.

Then, one Friday afternoon, he is walking to his car past James’ motorhome when he hears sounds of loud arguing – and not just their typical little bickering but actual raised and angry voices. He stops on his feet, wondering whether he should just leave it and mind his own business, but eventually curiosity takes the better of him and he climbs the little stairs to the door of James’ motorhome and pushes it open. Richard and James are standing on the narrow area between the sink and the table.

“Why the fuck do you even care so much?” Richard is saying as Jeremy steps in. Richard’s hands are in tight fists against his sides.

 They both freeze as they see Jeremy, their faces falling blank.

“What is going on?” Jeremy asks calmly, closing the door behind himself. He pushes past Richard to sit on the sofa and looks up to his colleagues with questioning eyes. “Well?”

Richard glances at James, searching for permission to share the topic of their argument; then he seems to decide on ‘fuck it’ and blurts out, “James doesn’t think I can do it.”

“It’s not that –“ James immediately protests, but Jeremy cuts him off with a flick of his hand.

“It’s _exactly_ what it is, James,” Richard says, “don’t even pretend it’s not.”

“Shut up, the both of you,” Jeremy says, frustrated. He still has no idea what is going on exactly, and it’s beginning to annoy him a little. “James doesn’t think you can do _what_ , now?”

“He doesn’t think I will make it in the arctic,” Richard says, shooting a venomous glance at James, his eyes wide with anger. “Which is fucking bollocks, I’m cleared by a dozen doctors, why he thinks he knows better than any of them I have no fucking idea…”

“Shut up, Hammond,” Jeremy says. “James?”

“It’s not that I don’t think he can do it,” James says, much calmer than Richard. He looks weary and somewhat resigned and for a moment, Jeremy feels bad for him, wants to take his side of the argument just because he thinks it could maybe make him feel better. “It’s that I don’t think he _should_ do it. It’s too early. For all of us.”

“Don’t try to talk on my behalf,” Richard says angrily. “I am _fine_ , I admit for a while I felt a bit down after the accident but that’s all cleared out now, I want to do this, I can’t wait to do this.”

“James,” Jeremy says, going for reasonable. “It’s all been settled, it is happening. Whether you like it or not. So maybe you should try and get accustomed to the idea.”

James’ face falls and Jeremy feels like a dick, even though he knows he has only said what’s true. It _has_ been settled – the locations and hotel rooms have been booked, professionals hired and plane tickets bought. There is no backing up now for any of them, and James’ reluctance isn’t going to change that.

“Hear that, James? It’s happening, and you’d better start believing it,” Richard says loudly, and then turns on his heels and leaves the motorhome.

Silence falls between Jeremy and James. For once in his life, Jeremy is at a loss for words, and James doesn’t seem to want to say much, either.

With a sigh, James slumps down to a seat next to Jeremy.

“I just don’t want to lose him,” he says in the tiniest of voices, sounding more vulnerable than Jeremy has ever heard him. “It’s four hundred and fifty miles, Jeremy. Four hundred and fifty miles.” It’s too weird, too serious, for Jeremy to even try to turn it into a joke, and that leaves him feeling very much out of his depth. He isn’t good at this kind of stuff, never has been, and a part of why he loves Top Gear so much is the fact that it hasn’t really put him in these sort of situations. Until now, of course.

“We are not going to lose him,” Jeremy says. “Don’t be so stupid.”

So, that came out a little bit less compassionate than Jeremy had perhaps intended it to, but it seems to do the trick: James sits up, lets out a puff of air and nods tightly.

“You are right,” he mumbles. “You are right, of course. I’m being ridiculous.”

“When am I ever not?” Jeremy says tiredly, letting his head fall back against the couch, closing his eyes. “When am I ever not.”

They sit in silence for a long while after that, James fiddling with his phone and Jeremy feigning a nap. He can’t shake a bad feeling brought on by his friends’ argument – what if James had been right, after all? What if it was all just a horrible idea, a stretch too far? Too soon after they almost lost a friend.


	12. Chapter 12

Richard

Days and weeks and months fly by. Richard is slowly starting to feel like himself again, his thoughts all in their correct little categories, and his interests back to what they used to be. They have been filming Top Gear and it has been a blast, a welcome break from everything happening inside of his head, and a place to put all of his extra energy in.

Things have been better at home, too: after a long stint of awkwardly dancing around each other, Mindy convinced Richard was having trust issues with her and trying to make Richard sign up for couple’s therapy with her (Richard had denied trust issues, perhaps dishonestly claiming that in his opinion nothing was wrong, and he had completely refused couples’ therapy – he had to see one therapist every two weeks already and that was plenty enough therapy for him, thank you very much) they have been finally beginning to have some of their intimacy back. Now when Richard looks at her, he sees a person he loves instead of just a personification of immense guilt over what he has put his loved ones through.

The only thing that keeps bugging Richard, keeping him up at odd hours and popping to his mind uninvited every now and again, is the weird fascination he has towards James.

It’s something he can’t even talk to his therapist about, it’s just too intimate, and he doesn’t trust her enough not to accidentally let it slip. He doesn’t doubt her professionalism, she is a lovely elderly lady and she has certainly helped Richard a lot over the past months, after he’d managed to swallow his pride and admit that he needed help. But he still feels as though telling her would be a risk, one that he’s not willing to take. There’s just too much on the line – his family, and his friendships, and ultimately, his career.

So, instead of dealing with it in any way, he goes about his daily business, trying not to think about it too much. He hopes that eventually it will just go away and he will be able to look back at it and laugh at how silly he has been. Just ignore it, and maybe it will be sort of okay.

Before he knows it or has any time to properly process it, he finds himself on a plane to Canada. It’s very odd, because he is alone: apparently him not ever having had skis on means he has to do some practicing and preparing before he tries to dog sled four hundred and fifty miles across the arctic to the North Pole. Who would have thought?

Anyway, it means that he starts this journey all alone, without the company of his beloved orangutan and James or without seven men with cameras and microphones constantly following him around. It is weird, and it leaves Richard feeling oddly anxious. He is good at dealing with people in his TV-presenter persona; however, as himself, he’s nothing short of very poor at it, awkward and unable to engage in seemingly pointless chit chat. Richard pushes his earphones deeper into his ears and closes his eyes. He might as well use some of the flight time to attempt sleeping.

It is fucking cold in the arctic.

Richard _had_ been prepared, really, he had: and yet it had managed to come as a surprise to him, the way the frost bites every bit of exposed skin, and how the freezing wind chills him to the bone. He tries to joke about it but everywhere he looks, serious faces look at him in return, telling him it’s not funny, that by not taking it seriously he could seriously put his life in danger, or risk losing his toes or his old chap.

Richard doesn’t really like the sound of that, and in his mind he is already counting the days until James and Jeremy’s arrival – he needs like-minded people around him to keep him sane and to keep him from feeling like he is the odd one out, never having had a finger or a toe amputated or a polar bear attack him while he’s been out to take a piss.

The days go by slowly. His training is nothing if not exhausting, and hour by hour Richard’s confidence in his ability to actually carry this challenge out is slowly crumbling. His teachers all seem to be quite impatient, as well, and it doesn’t bode well with Richard, who while usually being pretty quick at picking new things up, needs the reassurance of being able to deal with things with humour. They all seem to lack a sense of humour, in the arctic. Richard thinks it’s probably the cold that’s robbed all the joy from their lives.

He feels like he’s back in school, in many ways. After doing Top Gear for so long he has gotten quite used to having the upper hand in situations like these, the people teaching him new things usually more intimidated by him than he is of them. Here, though, it's completely the other way around, Richard feeling like a seven year old yet to learn how to read, his teachers growing more and more impatient with him by the moment.

Idly, by the end of each day, Richard wonders if the training’s outcome being him becoming completely worn out is really what is supposed to be happening, considering in a matter of days he will have to actually sled to the North Pole. Still, at least there are no troubles sleeping, for once, because as soon as Richard lays his head down on a pillow and closes his eyes he instantly falls asleep.

When James and Jeremy finally arrive and the filming begins, Richard is almost ecstatic. He gives both of his co-presenters a hug when he sees them, and if his touch lingers on James longer than it does on Jeremy, then it’s probably only because James feels so warm against him, and Richard hasn’t felt properly warm since the day he first arrived here.

“Good to see you,” James says quietly, breathes it into Richard’s hair.

“Yes,” Jeremy comments, “I’m glad we get to see you before you inevitably get eaten by polar bears.”

And so it begins.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say thank you everyone who has been reading this. It means a lot. :)  
> (Also there's fucking tickling in this chapter like I must've been drunk or something when I wrote it but I've kind of grown fond of this chapter now so. But yeah, that is to say some of this chapter is so cheesy it might give you indigestion.)

James

They are all gathered in Jeremy’s room, Richard lying on the bed with his legs raised against the wall, Jeremy sprawled over an armchair that looks much too small for him, and James sitting on the floor, back against the fridge. James is nursing a beer, drawn deep in his thoughts, only half-following the conversation Richard and Jeremy are currently engaged in. It’s something about torque and for once, James can’t bring himself to be bothered about it – doesn’t try to correct Richard or Jeremy even when he hears them talking absolute bollocks right in front of him.

They are set to start conquering the arctic tomorrow, after all.

When Jeremy goes outside for a smoke, after about half an hour of complaining how he has to make the way all the way down to the first floor just to have a smoke since their room doesn’t have a balcony, Richard and James are left alone. James doesn’t know if he imagines it, but he thinks the atmosphere changes slightly as Jeremy closes the door behind himself.

James takes a sip of his lager, watching as Richard taps his toes against the wall.

“Feeling confident?” James asks softly. Richard in an oversized, thick wool jumper and with slightly overgrown hair looks nothing short of irresistible to him, and he has to break the silence in order to keep himself from climbing next to Richard on the bed and pinning him down on it.

Richard laughs at that, turning his head towards James, and James is left wondering whether his eyes were always _that_ intensive a shade of brown. There are the beginnings of a stubble on his chin, and fairly uncharacteristic dark circles rounding his eyes. He looks tired.

“Not _really_ ,” Richard says, his smile all white teeth contrasting against tanned skin and cheekiness. “But I’m trying to forget the impeding sense of doom and focus on the task at hand.”

“You will be fine,” James says. “Whereas Jeremy will drive us through the ice. Mark my words. He will go ‘power’ and forget that he’s in a massive pick-up truck on thin ice and we’ll catch a horrific death.”

“I like the positive outlook you have on life, James,” Richard comments, closing his eyes. His eyelids flutter as his eyes close, and James finds himself fascinated by the way his Adam’s apple works as he swallows.

James stretches his hands. His back is starting to hurt because of the rather awkward angle he’s sitting on the floor, and after a moment of consideration and an encouraging sip of his alcoholic beverage he stands up and walks over to the bed, touches Richard on the shoulder lightly and says,

“Scoot over, Hammond.”

He half-expects Richard to protest, to tell him to bugger off or simply swat his hand away and refuse to move. It comes as a bit of a surprise to him when Richard just opens his eyes, regards him for a silent second and then moves to the other end of the bed, giving James room to lie down next to him.

It’s not a big bed; in fact, James suspects that it might be too small for Jeremy to be able to get completely comfortable in it. It’s definitely not built for two grown men – well. One grown man and one wee bit of a man, but still. James’ shoulder touches Richard’s, and he is so close that James can feel Richard’s body heat against his side, can hear every intake of breath and can feel every little bit of movement his friend makes.

“You are warm,” Richard says, keeping his eyes closed. James doesn’t dare to turn his head to look at him in case moving would shatter the moment, make it too real or too weird.

“Yeah, probably not for much longer,” James says under his breath and is delighted when Richard chuckles at that, the sound doing things to his insides James isn’t ready to own up to.

“You can always cuddle up to Jeremy for warmth,” Richard says grinning.

James doesn’t know what hits him, then: when he comes to analyse it later (in depth, because that’s how James May likes to deal with things), he thinks it was probably a mixture of having the perfect opportunity and means – Richard lying there, helpless, with his eyes closed – and James’ will to peg him down a notch. It was also probably to do with the alcohol in his system, preventing him from thinking things through.

James moves smoothly like a gazelle, raises to his knees and tickles Richard’s belly with both hands.

Richard yelps at once, his knees shooting up towards his chest. He starts instantly fighting back but James had been prepared for such a possibility, and he simply moves his angle so that he can continue his relentless tickling.

“You fucker!” Richard all but screams, high-pitched and breathless and helplessly rolling around, James keeping him from escaping. “I’m going to – _fucking_ – punch your lights out –“

“Ticklish, are we?” James asks, and stops, watches as Richard’s body relaxes and he falls back against the bed, his breathing hard and ragged. Richard’s fingers are curled around James’ wrists so tight his knuckles have turned white.

“You fucking fucker, James,” Richard says. “That was not even funny.”

“I thought it was quite funny, actually,” James says, smiling. Richard’s eyes dart to his and they stare at each other for a few seconds, essentially sharing the same breathing air.

For a small moment, James thinks something might happen: he thinks he might lean down and press his lips against Richard’s – thinks Richard might just sit up and kiss _him._ He can feel Richard’s heartbeat under his hands, Richard’s fingers still tight around his wrists, pressing James’ hands down on his chest.

“Richard,” James says and it’s low and incredibly loaded. He licks his lips and sees Richard mirror it. His eyes widen and his heart skips a beat. “Richard – I –“

That’s when the door opens and Jeremy steps in.

Richard flinches furiously, letting go of James’ hands and James recoils, almost falling off the bed in the momentary panic. His heart is beating furiously in his chest, feeling like it’s trying to plunge its way out. His face is hot and he knows he’s blushing, and he feels like a sixteen year old again, caught kissing a girl in his mother’s Volvo.

Jeremy seems blissfully oblivious to the change in the atmosphere of the room, though, making his way back to the armchair, making a comment about how fucking cold it had been outside, saying how weird he thought it was that the sun didn’t go down at all.

James hurries to agree, folding his hands over his chest to keep them from shaking. He resolutely looks anywhere but at Hammond, pretending to find the loose thread at the hem of his shirt interesting instead, focusing on it and fiddling with it to try and ease his nerves.

The next half-hour is spent by James and Richard mostly nodding along to Jeremy rambling on about god-knows-what (James, for one, hasn’t been listening to him _at all_ ), and soon after that Richard excuses himself and leaves the room, saying he has to try and catch some sleep.

After he leaves, James feels like he can breathe again. For a moment he entertains the idea of following Richard to his room and confronting him about what almost happened between them, but even as the plan forms in his mind he knows he would never courageous enough to execute it: too scared of the consequences, too scared of getting punched between the eyes by a short angry bloke.

Besides, the more James thinks about it, the less certain he is that anything was going to happen. It might have been completely one-sided, after all, in his drunken haze James could have very well imagined all of it. What had Richard done that would suggest he’d be interested in closer contact? James’ mind draws a blank. _Absolutely nothing that couldn’t be otherwise explained,_ he thinks feverishly. _Absolutely nothing._

He notices too late Jeremy’s worried gaze on him, scrutinising him.

“He is going to be just fine, James,” he says, thankfully misinterpreting James’ pensive quietness.

“Yeah,” James says, waves of exhaustion washing over him, and he rubs a hand across his face. “I suppose so.” He stands up, claps Jeremy on the shoulder once and goes back to his own room, closing the door behind himself and leaning against it for a moment, wondering when exactly had life turned so weird.

He doesn’t sleep well that night, tossing and turning, pictures of violent polar bears and tire punctures and thin ice and wallowing, black water swirling around in his head, turning into nightmares and making him snap awake every twenty minutes. It is light outside each time he wakes, and he supposes it might be messing with his inner clock somewhat. Still, he knows that tomorrow night he will definitely miss the almost comfortable warmth and the softness of his bed and his pillow. If he doesn’t die before that, of course.

When the next day, just before they set off, Jeremy asks him who he thinks is going to win the race, he isn’t even lying when he replies:

“I think we are all going to die.”


	14. Chapter 14

Richard

It is funny how after two days in the wilderness – or has it been three? Richard isn’t even sure anymore, the rhythm of the days changing according to how much the dogs need rest – everything starts to look exactly the same.

He supposes it would have been a bit much to expect brilliant sceneries, but still he thinks it’s quite astonishing how similar it looks,  _everywhere,_ just a blinding amount of snow and ice. He hopes Matty knows where they are heading, because he honestly can’t tell. For all he knows, they could be going in a one mile circle, round and round, and he would never find out. It all looks exactly the same, feels exactly the same.

He’s been on his feet for ten hours straight now, again, and he can’t feel his toes. It’s a worry, but Matty doesn’t seem to be too worried about it so Richard supposes it's okay, sullenly figures that he can probably lead a fairly normal life even with a couple of little toes missing if they have to be amputated in the end. It’s not a very comforting thought that, but then thoughts of comfort are rare now, anyway. With each passing moment, Richard becomes more and more convinced that he and Matty are not only going to lose, they are going to lose by hundreds of miles.

Matty tries talking to him, every now and again, but it seems that their instructor’s words are starting to ring true. When Richard looks at her, there’s an irrational sense of resentment to him, and he finds he can’t hold up a long conversation with her without snapping at her. So when they stop for a break, he tries to mostly bond with the dogs and leave Matty alone. He feels awful about it but it seems he can’t help it, his professionalism slowly crumbling with every hour spent in the middle of all the snow and the coldness.

He knows he should be talking more to the camera when they are not moving, but he finds he doesn’t really have anything to say. Every time he opens his mouth near it, something horribly desperate-sounding comes out, and that only results in his misery getting more real, more concrete.

He cries while being towed by the dogs that day. He can’t remember the last time he cried, it has been so long. Now he just feels utterly miserable and desperate and incredibly incapable. He remembers James’ words of warning from months ago, telling him it was going to be too soon after the crash, that it would get too hard, too lonely, and too mind-numbing for him to handle. Now he wishes he had paid more attention to the words and not just what he had thought had been behind them.

It takes him three attempts to count to ten, and it’s almost enough for him to throw his towel into the rink, to just give up and go home. His thoughts are scattered in his mind, and it reminds him too much of what it was like right after the accident for him to deal. He misses his girls so much it hurts, he misses James so much it’s like a knife through his heart. Richard regrets words said and ones left unsaid, wishes things hadn’t been weird between him and James when they set off. Weirdly, he finds he doesn’t really miss Mindy and a twinge goes through his chest at that.

His pride won’t let him give up, but it’s a very close call.

It’s a small relief, by the end of each day, to press his head against the pillow and sleep. But even that is ruined by the knowledge that in the morning he is going to wake up in the middle of frost, and that if he isn’t careful, he might catch a cold or lose his toes while sleeping due to the frost bites. Richard is careful to tug his willy in his trousers. If he’s going to lose a body part, he is at least going to make sure it isn’t his old chap, for crying out loud.

They find a small cabin from the middle of the nowhere, with actual beds. Richard has no idea why it’s there, but Matty says they can make use of it and Richard thinks it’s probably likely that he has now lost it and is hallucinating the whole thing. Still, hallucinating or not, he is momentarily very happy to get a bit of sleep on a real bed and not on one made of snow and ice. Even if they can't spend a long time there. They are still in a race, after all.

It also means he can attempt calling his colleagues. He hopes that they are in a place where they will be able to receive the call. He doesn’t want to admit it, but he’s desperate to hear a friendly voice, and he could really use a chat with someone who knows him and who he can trust. He isn’t sure if he would say anything special, but it would still feel good to just talk to someone who, to put it crudely, matters in his life.

His heart leaps when Jeremy picks up the phone.

“Richard Hammond!” He says, instantly bringing a smile on Richard’s face. “You are still alive!”

“Clarkson,” Richard replies, and then, “Yeah, I’m about as surprised as you are, to put it frankly.”

“Any polar bears creep up on you while you’ve been having a dump?” Jeremy asks, because obviously that’s what matters the most.

“No,” Richard says dryly. “Mind you, I’m so knackered that every time I close my eyes I fall asleep so they might have seen me and just thought I was dead. How are you doing?”

“The ice is bloody thin,” Jeremy says, “but the thinner it goes the more we drink, so it’s alright.”

“Yeah, that sounds like it’s going to be just fine,” Richard says.

“And obviously James is driving me bloody insane,” Jeremy says. There’s a distant sound of protest coming down the line, but Richard can’t make out the words. “We have been talking about sandwiches for about three days now, it is really kicking off here at team pick-up truck.”

 “Yeah,” Richard says. “I have been mainly crying into my goggles.” It is not even a joke, but Jeremy doesn’t have to know that. Well, until he finds out later since Richard had to go and say it to the bloody camera. Oh, well.

“Hang on, James wants to talk to you,” Jeremy says. “Brace yourself, he is probably going to talk about  _sandwiches._ ”

Richard waits as Jeremy hands the phone over.

“Hammond,” James says softly after a moment. “Are you well?”

“Knackered,” Richard says. He can’t lie and say he’s fine; yet he finds he can’t bring himself to pour his heart out to James over the phone. He knows James and Jeremy have their own task and they need to focus on it. Richard doesn’t want them to go through the ice. “Tell me, are you going to win this thing soon, so we can all go home?”

“We plan to do that soon, yes,” James says.

“Well, that’s good, because I never want to see snow ever again.”

James laughs softly. It’s a sound Richard hadn’t realised he’d missed until he hears it. Something twists inside his belly.

“And here I thought you were an outdoorsy person, Hammond,” James teases lightly.

“I’ve decided that I’m not,” Richard says. “I’m never going to go outside again when we get out of this place, especially if there’s even the slightest chance of it getting cold.”

“Yeah,” James says. They listen to each other breathe for a few seconds and then James says, “Richard?”

“Yeah?”

“I wouldn’t say this in any other situation, but I miss you. I wish you were here.” James says awkwardly, sounding guilty.

Richard smiles, glad that there are no cameras for him to consider. He is also glad James can’t see him, because he thinks he would definitely be giving out too much.

“You pillock,” Richard says, but it’s with a very particular kind of fondness that he hopes carries over.

“Yeah,” James agrees, chuckling lightly.

They end the call quite soon after that, convincing each other that it’s going to be fine and that they are going to see each other soon in a place considerably less freezing. Richard feels about a ton lighter after the call than he’d done before it; he is finally starting to think that maybe, just maybe, he will eventually get out of the arctic.

He even manages a conversation with Matty that is completely friendly and she beams at him, leaving him feeling like a massive cock for the way he has been acting, lately. He tells her as much, but she just smiles, waves it off and tells him it’s absolutely normal, that she would have been staggered if the arctic hadn’t gotten to him because it always got to her, too; even after such a long time of doing it.

Richard asks her why she does it, then, and she shrugs. “I don’t know, really. I must be a bit mad.”

Richard silently agrees.

 *

When James and Jeremy finally reach the point that they have basically decided is the North Pole, it’s Monday and they catch a flight out of Canada the same evening. Richard can barely function, he is so tired. He thinks when he gets home and puts his head down on his own pillow, gets under the blankets in his own bed, he will probably sleep for a week straight.

None of them talk very much on the way back. Even Jeremy gets tired of gloating over his and James’ win much sooner than he usually would, admitting that the victory had been a bit hollow. Richard agrees. He and Matty were no competition at any point of the race. It was only a test of how long it took two moronic men to try their way to the North Pole in an idiotically big vehicle. It wasn’t as much a win as it was a survival.

Richard has a gin and tonic on the plane and just sleeps afterwards, Jeremy and James playing cards, rather noisily, next to him. Still, he's so knackered that even their loud bickering over rules and Jeremy calling James a cheater doesn’t disturb him too much.

When they land he is already starting to feel a little bit more normal and less like a mere ghost of himself. He pokes James with an elbow and tells him he will see him at the wrap party the crew has scheduled for Friday, and then drives home.

“I missed you so much,” Mindy coos when he steps inside the house, their dogs jumping against him with their typical enthusiasm. She leaps over to give him a hug and Richard returns it, kissing her forehead. His heart sinks in his chest when he realises he hasn’t really missed her. He doesn’t really want to think why that might be, at least not now. He is too exhausted. He knows he can’t keep putting thinking about it off forever – he has already been doing it for quite some time and it is becoming harder and harder to ignore. But for now, he is just too tired.

“Missed you, too,” Richard says. “Missed the girls,” the last part is true, too. “Where are they?”

“Napping,” Mindy says, touching his cheeks. Richard pulls away slightly, stepping out of her reach.

“I should probably do that, too,” he says. “I can’t remember the last time I’ve been this tired, I feel like I’m sleepwalking.”

“Honey,” Mindy says, concern in her eyes. “You didn’t push yourself too far, did you?”

Richard smiles at that. She knows him so well. He looks at her and he loves her. But he thinks the way he loves her might have changed, and if he had the energy to worry about it he would. Fortunately, he definitely does not have the energy for that. Or for anything, for that matter.

With somewhat resigned steps, he climbs upstairs and falls to his bed. He is pretty sure he falls asleep before his head hits the pillow.

 *

On Friday Richard spends an uncommonly long time deciding what he wants to wear for the wrap party. He doesn’t know why he suddenly feels as though it matters – his friends and the crew have seen him wearing so many ridiculous things it hardly matters which colour of shirt he puts on now, or which of his jeans he chooses. Still, he stands in front of the full body mirror in the bedroom and winces at his image, not particularly liking what he sees: the dark circles around his eyes have decided to stick with him, even though he has been sleeping a lot to try and correct his sleeping rhythm all through the week.

He pulls off the shirt he’s currently wearing and throws it on the bed, picking up another. It’s a shade of crimson red, and he thinks it looks good on him. Now he only needs to find jeans that go well with it. He pulls a belt out of his closet and wonders whether it feels like a belt sort of night. It doesn’t, really, so he throws the belt on his bed to accompany the rejected shirt.

He spends quite some time styling his hair, too, and he’s just glad Mindy has already gone out to meet her friends. If she was home she would be relentlessly mocking him for his primping. Although, to be honest, she doesn’t have to be there. Richard feels utterly stupid doing what he’s doing anyway, but he can’t seem to stop himself.

He shaves carefully and smears lotion over his face where it seems to be a bit dry. Then he splashes a little bit of cold water over his face, just to feel a little bit fresher. He doesn’t know why but he finds he is a bit nervous all of a sudden, his heart rate higher than usually. He takes a deep breath and tells himself to stop being such a fucking idiot. In all likelihood, the only people he will be interacting with anyway are going to be James and Jeremy, maybe with a dash of chatting to a couple of girls from the office, if they turn up. It’s mostly a party to celebrate the end of the filming of the polar special, and Richard doubts the girls would be interested in their war stories.

Richard is most definitely not trying to make himself look pretty for James. That is not it. Not at all. And he does  _not_ protest too much.

The prospect of meeting James keeps popping up in his mind, though. He imagines himself giving James a congratulatory hug, imagines ignoring James’ protests and just throwing himself into it, clinging on to him for as long as it takes for James to return the hug and wrap his long arms around Richard tightly. He is determined to get at least a hug out of this evening. As the words ‘at least’ spring through his mind he winces idly and refuses to think about what else it could be that he would like to get out of the night, out of James.

He runs a hand across his face, a cold palm against hot skin. He glances at the clock. It’s way too early – Richard had said he would turn up at around seven, and it’s only half five. Even with the hour’s journey to James’ house he would be unreasonably early if he left the house now.

He shrugs and goes to find his car keys. It’s the waiting that is getting to him and what is slowly wrecking his nerves, and he can’t take it anymore. Besides, once he gets to James’ house, he can pop open a drink and down it in one go and then everything will start to look much better, he is sure.

The journey goes by quickly. Richard drives too fast, his foot constantly pressing down even though he is consciously trying to avoid speeding. But the road is familiar and not dangerous, and he is pretty sure he has never seen a police car around here in all the time that he has lived there, so he is not really in a realistic danger of getting fined for speeding and getting his face on the front page of the Daily Mail, either. He hums a tune under his breath, not really sure what the song is, or if it even is a real song and not just a melody he’s caught somewhere.

Before he feels mentally prepared enough for it, he pulls up on James’ driveway, turns off his engine and grabs the keys from the ignition. He sits in silence for a couple of seconds, watching as the first drops of a shower of rain hit the windscreen. Then he tells himself to stop being a wuss and jogs through the rain to knock on James’ front door.


	15. Chapter 15

James

James sits in his armchair, absent-mindedly petting Fusker, who is purring in his lap. He keeps looking at the clock, although he knows it will be hours yet until Richard arrives. After all, Richard has always been the punctual one out of the trio, Jeremy always too caught up on himself and his surroundings to make it anywhere on time and James with an incredibly useless sense of direction that gets him lost and makes him arrive at a completely unpredictable time each time, despite always setting off early. Richard is always where he is expected, when he is expected there: his focused professionalism and pride not allowing him to be late.

Fusker nudges James’ arm when he goes too long without petting her. He smiles, mumbles mindless nonsense to her under his breath. He is happy to have her in his life, at least one thing in the world that loves him for who he is. It should be a sad thought but it isn’t, instead it comforts him in an odd way. He supposes he is lucky to have Sarah, too, a woman who understands that he needs his space and doesn’t blame him for it. Yet, it’s been almost three weeks since they have as much as talked to each other, and James isn’t sure if that constitutes as a relationship. She hasn’t even called to check if he’s made it back from the arctic, and James hasn’t called her to let her know that he has. And while James can think of things much worse than a couple of weeks of radio silence, well. He doesn’t think what he has with Sarah is exclusive on her part. Not that he minds that, per se, he is perfectly happy to describe himself as a bachelor living alone in an episode of Top Gear if the opportunity presents itself. It’s just that when he stops to think about himself and Sarah, he doesn’t think it’s that good an arrangement, after all. It’s wearisome, at least for James. He suspects it would have to be that for Sarah, too. And the fact that he can’t imagine a conversation where he would ask her about it just pretty much proves his point.

He thinks about Richard and Mindy. He envies what they have, and he always has. She is a brilliant woman, just like Richard but in a female body and with a slightly more reasonable sense of responsibility. Richard doesn’t talk about her a lot, not in the way some blokes go on about their wives to the point where it gets annoying. But whenever Richard has mentioned her in the years they have known each other he has always done it with an adoring tone to his voice and a soft look in his eyes, and it has always been painfully obvious how much Richard loves her.

Which is why James has been spending most of the days after returning from the arctic feeling like an utter moron: crammed together with just Jeremy and Richard as his company he had somehow managed to convince himself momentarily that Richard might be interested in him, in that way, and if that isn’t the most pathetic thing after Fusker being the closest thing James has for a partner, then he doesn’t know what could be. He had almost kissed Richard, for heaven’s sake. It’s still fresh enough on his mind that he can’t even bring himself to laugh at it. Instead the memory makes his throat constrict and his belly fill with unpleasant butterflies.

James has been keeping from touching himself ever since returning from Canada, because he doesn’t trust himself enough not to think about Richard during it. He has done it, in the past, he admits; he’s done it with his cock in his hand, desperate and aching and with Richard on his mind, kneeling in front of James in his mind’s eye. But that has always been when they haven’t seen each other for a while. It has always been when there has been enough time for James afterwards to push the thoughts back to the far end of his mind and try and forget about their existence altogether before next seeing Richard. He couldn’t imagine jacking off to thoughts of his friend and then seeing him a couple of hours, or even days, later. It would be too weird, and he is somehow afraid that Richard might be able to guess just what he has been up to by just looking at him and his undoubtedly very guilty expression.

He remembers when he had just started working at Top Gear with Richard and Jeremy, how he had initially thought there might have been something going on between the two of them. He shakes his head at the thought now, but at the time it had been very real. He can still remember the ill feeling at the pit of his stomach he had felt at the idea.

It hadn’t been too much later that he had realised what a massive cocking idiot he had been. But it had been a lot later that he had realised the odd, nauseous feeling he had got whenever he had started thinking about it too much had been because even back then he had been jealous over Hammond. Stroking his cat behind the ears, James rolls eyes at himself. He is such a damned moron, sometimes.

It’s not even half past six when he hears the front door open and then bang shut, followed by a sound of a small man throwing his shoes all over James’ front room. Well, he doesn’t as much hear the last part as he knows it by heart, but still. He puts Fusker on the floor and goes to greet his friend.

“You know, some people have this habit of knocking before they enter a house that’s not their own,” he says, leaning against the door frame. He can almost hear Richard rolling his eyes. Under James’ supervision, incredibly, Richard actually puts his shoes on the shoe rack without James having to mention it.

“Some people have a habit of getting up to answer the door without getting lost and it taking three hours,” Richard shoots back, grinning.

James finds himself grinning back. Butterflies are flying around in his stomach at the sight of Hammond. He’s wearing a tighter shirt than usually, and a pair of well-fitted jeans, and James can tell that he has used a good amount of hair product to style his hair. Usually all that would put James off, since it’s a window to a world he doesn’t understand – he doesn’t have a hint of a dress sense, his hair has always and will always be a mess and the make-up put on his face at the filming of Top Gear just makes him feel iffy and dumb. But Richard makes all of it look good. So good James wants to ram him against the nearest wall and push against him, touch the skin under his red shirt and bury his nose into his stupid hair.

James supresses a sigh. He is a man over forty years old, and yet he feels like he has never understood teenagers better. Maybe it would be a time to consult someone, or get a hobby other than sitting at home, petting his cat.

They make their way to James’ sitting room, although Richard has a rummage through James’ drinks cabinet first, pulling out bottles and then pushing them back in, eventually settling on a bottle of white wine. He brings it to James looking especially pleased with himself, and James can’t help laughing a bit at his friend’s expense. Richard doesn’t seem to mind, though, just popping the bottle open and pouring both of them a glass. A rather gratuitous glass at that. It takes a moment for James to realise what’s off about the picture, and he looks up at Richard with a raised eyebrow.

“It’s been two years,” Richard says to James’ questioning gaze.

“It hasn’t, Hammond,” James says factually, but he can’t help smiling.

“Well,” Richard says, swirling the wine around in his glass and then proceeding to sniff it. The pikey. “More or less.”

“Definitely less,” James says, but clicks his glass against Richard's when Richard leans forward. “To our health,” he says.

To be honest, it is a relief of sorts. He loves hanging out with Richard whether there is drinking involved or not, and whether it is only one or both of them getting hammered. But especially after what he had thought had almost happened between them in that small hotel room in Canada, he is happy that he isn’t the only one of the two of them getting drunk tonight. Now he can relax, without having to worry too much about accidentally letting his guard down whilst shit-faced.

Just when they fall into a nice discussion about the latest Mercedes Richard has been driving, James’ phone buzzes in his pocket. He fishes it out with difficulty and takes a look at the screen.

It’s Sarah. Obviously she would pick a moment like this to call. James winces at Richard, explains, “It’s Sarah, sorry,” and goes to the kitchen to talk, pulling the door half-closed behind himself.

“Hello,” James says.

“Oh, so you are still alive,” Sarah says dryly. James winces – it isn’t going to be an easy call, then, apparently.

“Well,” James says, at a loss for words. What do you say to that? She could have called him earlier, if she had wanted to, why should it have been James’ responsibility? He fancies telling her as much, but he doesn’t think it would go down too well, and he doesn’t want to fight. “Yeah, still alive.”

Sarah just sighs at the other end of the line. James knows her well enough to know that if he doesn’t put a lid on this now, the call could go on for hours, both of them just sighing at each other.

“Look, Hammond is here, so I can’t really talk, now. Can I call you back tomorrow?”

It’s the wrong thing to say, he knows it as soon as the words leave his mouth. She gasps (rather theatrically, in James’ opinion) and makes a sound that sounds horrifyingly like a muffled sob.

“Of course,” she says, sarcasm dripping from every syllable. “Obviously, Richard Hammond will have to come first. James, we haven’t spoken in a month and I am trying very hard to be patient here, but you are making it incredibly hard.”

“I’m sorry, Sarah –“

“You are not,” she says, too matter-of-factly for James’ liking. “You are just saying that. If you were, you would have called. I bet you have called Richard. When will you stop obsessing over that man?”

“I am not –“

“Oh, do cut it out, James. Everyone with half a brain can see that you are obsessed with the man.”

“Sarah,” James says firmly. “This discussion isn’t going anywhere.”

“Nothing about us is going anywhere, James,” she says, a sudden twinge of sadness to her tone. “I hope you realise that.”

“This is a discussion for another time,” James says, ignoring her. He does realise that, it’s just that he doesn’t particularly want to spend any time wallowing in it.

“I think I want to put an end to this,” she says, and even though it’s not a massive surprise it still leaves James breathless. He hadn't expected that over the phone. Maybe after a nice meal at a restaurant, after an hour and a half of inconspicuously glaring at each other over the table, after a silence icier than an iceberg and longer than the river Nile. But not over the phone. 

“Right,” James says. “We should talk about this.”

“That’s what I’m fucking trying to do, here!” She snaps loudly, making James flinch.

“Right,” James says. “It’s just that it’s not a good time, now.”

“Yes, better make damn sure you don’t hurt Richard’s little feelings,” Sarah sneers, with an unpleasant tone to her voice that is very unlike her. She loves Richard, and she is usually much classier than this. “You always did care more about his feelings than you did about mine.”

“That’s not true,” James says, even though he’s not quite sure. It might have been true. “Sarah, please, calm down.”

“I am calm,” she says, calmly. James sighs. She sighs back at him.

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” James says tentatively after a moment.

“I might not pick up,” Sarah warns him.

“I will still call you tomorrow.”

“Okay,” she says, after a few beats. James lets out a small breath of relief.

When James goes back to the living room, Richard’s eyes are on him instantly, worry glazing them. He seems to have been making progress with the wine bottle while James had been gone, and there’s already a particular kind of softness around his eyes that mostly only appears when he is drunk or at least getting there. James suspects that after an almost two year dry patch Richard won’t be needing too much alcohol to get there.

“Is everything alright, mate?” Richard asks him as he sits down.

“Yeah, yeah,” James says. He doesn’t want to ruin this night. It’s supposed to be a celebration, after all. Anyway, he doesn’t know what he would say even if he did want to talk about it, so for now it’s better just to leave it. “Everything is fine.”

Richard doesn’t seem too convinced – he has probably heard bits and pieces of James’ half of the conversation – but as James doesn’t return his worried gaze, he drops it. Thankfully.

“Is that what you are going to be wearing for the party?” Richard changes the subject, grinning cheekily, a glint in his eye.

James purses his lips. He hadn’t really put any thought in it – as per usual – he had just pulled on the first clean clothes he had set his hands on. It was a (perfectly fine, James thought) plain shirt and a pair of (alright, James could admit they were an old pair of pants, but at least they were comfortable) faded jeans. “Yes,” he says, rather defensively, crossing his hands over his chest and narrowing his eyes at Hammond.

Richard just looks at him, smirking. “James, seriously, we can’t have that.” He shakes his head and stands up. “You have got to have something a bit more… well, something. Come on.”

With more confident steps than James would allow him to have in this particular respect, Richard leads the way to James’ bedroom, and starts going through his closet. James watches with barely disguised panic how Richard messes up his system, throwing shirts from piles to another,  _wrong_  piles.

“Something that doesn’t have a hint of a stripe on it,” Hammond mutters, his head far up in the closet. Even despite all of his discomfort, James doesn’t miss the chance to take a good, long look at Richard’s butt. It’s a nice butt, especially in those tighter jeans he’s wearing.

“I’m not sure I have anything that would match that description,” James mumbles back, just as Richard leans back with a triumphant look on his face.

“Ha!” he says, holding up a black V-neck shirt. James had blissfully forgotten he even owned one of those, as he feels very much like he can't pull anything like that off: he can do stripes with a ‘fuck you, I don’t need a sense of fashion’ attitude, and other than that he usually couldn’t care less. But he feels stupid whenever he actually tries to make an effort, as if someone is going to call him out on it and mock him relentlessly for it.

Richard, however, doesn't seem to think the black V-neck is a bad idea, quite the reverse. “Come on,” he says, “put this on.” He tosses the shirt over to James and James guesses he has no choice but to put it on.

“I don’t particularly like it,” he says as a feeble attempt at protesting.

Richard rolls his eyes at him. “All the more reason for you to try it. You might be surprised to find out you could look  _good_.”

The words do things to James’ insides and he sighs, pulling his shirt off, trying not to blush as he feels Richard’s eyes on him.  _This is completely normal. This is not weird. Don’t make it weird by being awkward about it. Just act as if you are used to stripping in front of your friends._

Reluctantly, James pulls the black V-neck shirt on, and lifts his gaze to meet Richard’s eyes. He almost wishes he hadn’t, when he sees Richard’s face – his eyes have gone wide and his lips are slightly parted.

“Wow, mate,” Richard says. “Much better. Much better.”

“Really?” James winces. He can’t be sure if Richard is serious or if he is just taking the mick.

“Fucking hell, James. Yes, really.”

James tries very hard not to read too much into Richard’s words or his expression, but it’s proving to be bloody fucking difficult. He wonders what would happen if he backed him up against the nearest wall, now, and kissed him. He is itching to touch Richard, to muss up his carefully styled hair and tear some more of those buttons on his shirt open in order for him to be able to slide a hand inside.

James tears his gaze away from Richard and looks at himself through the mirror. He doesn’t look too much like a man who is trying entirely too much to be someone he is not, so he supposes it’s alright. And anyway, if Richard likes it then he will be more than happy to wear pretty much anything, so there’s that.

“I think you could do better jeans-wise, as well,” Richard says, considering James with a finger pressed against his lips.

“I don’t own a good pair of jeans,” James admits.

“We need to go shopping,” Richard says. “We really need to go shopping and get you something to wear.”

“I’m perfectly happy with what I'm wearing right now, Hammond,” James says. “And I was perfectly happy with what I was wearing a minute ago. I’m honestly not too bothered.”

“Don’t I know that,” Richard says, laughing.

James joins the laughter, even though he can’t be sure it’s with him and not at him. He figures it doesn’t matter too much, because it’s just Richard. Richard, whom he loves. He admits it to himself now. No point in denying it.

Not any longer.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richard stops not-drinking and it makes for an interesting evening.

Richard

Richard is planning to get absolutely fucking hammered. This he doesn’t expect to be much of a problem, since he suspects his alcohol resistance might have suffered a bit over the two year dry patch. So far he hasn’t had more than three glasses of wine and he is already feeling super chatty and pleasantly warm, and the world has gone slightly hazy around the edges. He is in that wonderful state where he feels like he loves everyone around him. Everyone is beautiful and funny, he even thinks he is being funny. But the most beautiful and funniest of all is James. Richard grabs his elbow slightly, pushes him through the crowd. He can’t keep a smile off his face.

“James,” he says when something occurs to him, an absolutely brilliant idea. He grabs James by the arm and curls his fingers tight around his bicep. “James. Do you want to dance?”

James looks at him as though he has gone mad. “Not… necessarily,” he says, bewildered, his eyes darting around the room nervously.

Richard lets his hand fall back against his side. “Why not?” he whinges, can’t help it. “There are loads of people dancing, look.” He points to the dance floor. There are maybe four people there, and two of them seem to be just chatting, so alright, maybe James has a point after all. Richard wrinkles his nose.

“Hammond,” James says, and Richard thinks it’s time to go and get him some shots or something. It’s not fair that he looks so calm and rational and _sober_ when Richard is ready to let out a little dance.

“Yes, alright,” Richard cuts him off. “Shots, then, and that is a brilliant idea, don’t you even start or I am ditching you.” He pushes James again, shoves at his shoulder gently and waits until James leads them to the bar.

He buys James two shots and a lager, refusing to hear any of the protests his friend is mumbling by his side. For himself he gets a gin and tonic. It comes in a particularly large-bottomed glass, and Richard likes the way it looks when he holds it in his hands. It’s massive.

James downs his shots obediently enough and they proceed to go about finding a table to sit in. Jeremy is nowhere to be seen, or heard, which is unheard of (Richard is very proud of the pun, thank you very much). Eventually they sit in a table with Dave and Frankie, two of their tech assistants, neither of whom either of them are particularly familiar with. But they turn out to be good company. They aren’t afraid of openly mocking James, which in Richard’s eyes is always a plus, unless it’s done maliciously, in which case whoever has a problem with James also has a problem with Richard.

They buy each other drinks in turns, and Richard has to skip a couple of rounds because he’s a bit afraid he will end up falling over and puking on someone before it’s even midnight. He is pretty smashed, though, to be honest, but then so is James, and so are Dave and Frankie and so is Trish who sits in their table for a couple of minutes until very theatrically getting fed up with their topic of discussion (exhaust systems) and swaying off on her high heels.

Eventually Dave and Frankie wander off as well, and Richard and James are left alone.

“I wonder where Jezza is,” James says slowly.

Richard leans his chest against James’ upper arm. “Do you want to know a secret?” he asks in a low voice, breathing into James’ ear.

“Umm,” James says, leaning as far back in his chair as he can manage, away from Richard.

Richard doesn’t let that hold him back. “I couldn’t care less where Jez is. Not tonight,” he whispers, touching James’ shoulder blade. Then he leans back in his chair and observes with a smile as James blinks.

“Right,” James says and downs the rest of his pint in one go.

Richard smiles, all teeth and, he imagines, charm.

About an hour on, and Jeremy appears. He smacks both Richard and James on the back and sits in their table and demands to know what they have been up to. Richard is happy to see him, of course he is, but at the same time it gets on his nerves a bit how James seems to be clinging to every word Jeremy says. It’s like he is pretending Richard doesn’t exist, and it’s very annoying.

“I think we should all dance,” he says loudly, cutting off whatever Jeremy is going on about. “Come on, let’s go.”

Jeremy shoots a glance at James, and the two of them continue pretending Richard isn’t there.

“So, Hammond’s stopped not-drinking, then?” Jeremy asks.

“Yes, and I want to dance,” Richard says impatiently. He pokes James in the ribs to emphasise his words.

“Yes, that has indeed happened,” James says, as if Richard hadn’t spoken at all. “He says it has been close enough to two years.”

“It has!”

“Right,” Jeremy says. “How are you feeling, Hamster?”

They both finally turn their attention to him, and he grins widely. “Amazing!” he says. “Although I do want to dance. Please dance with me?” he mostly directs this at James, who turns his gaze away from Richard as soon as Richard looks at him.

“You can hardly hear the music in this place,” Jeremy says, as though it’s a viable answer to a request. It isn’t, and Richard tells him as much. To his utter dismay, Jeremy just laughs at him, tells him he had forgotten how fighty Richard could get when he'd had something to drink.

Richard pouts, and then stands up. “I’m going out for a smoke,” he proclaims. “Only I don’t have any cigarettes because I have quit so one of you will have to come outside with me.” He looks at James but it is Jeremy who stands up eventually, grumbling about small blokes stealing his fags. Richard grins charmingly, and leads the way outside.

He hasn’t had a smoke in months, and the first one makes him cough slightly.

Jeremy looks at him with a raised eyebrow, already going through his second cigarette.

“So, how was the North Pole?” Richard asks, blowing smoke out through his nose.

“No different from the rest of the arctic,” Jeremy says, leaning against the wall. “Cold, icy and bloody boring.”

“How did he cope up there? He must have driven you mad.” He tries to be nonchalant about the question, but Jeremy looks at him with a weird look in his eyes for a moment, his eyes soft and almost too kind. Richard flinches, but the moment is gone before he can fully grasp it, before he can determine if it was actually anything more than him just imagining things.

“He was alright,” Jeremy says. “He drank a lot. He talked about sandwiches a lot and complained about us surely dying a lot.” Jeremy takes a drag of his cigarette, breathing in long and deep and then blowing off the smoke to the side of his head. “And he talked about you a lot, Hammond,” Jeremy adds then, looking at his feet. “He worried about you a lot.”

“Did he?” Richard asks, hating the way he knows his voice must sound like. Earnest and overly excited at the prospect of James simply caring about him. He scratches his face, and tries a more indifferent approach. “Well, you know James. That’s what he does: he worries.”

Jeremy looks at him for a long moment, before huffing out a short laugh. “Yeah, that he does,” he says.

Richard feels uneasy. He thinks Jeremy might be putting together pieces of a puzzle in his head. Obviously there isn’t anything for him to solve, but still Richard feels like he is being found out somehow. It’s definitely the time to change the subject.

“Jez,” he says, drawing it out long and whining. “I think we should go sing some karaoke. They are doing karaoke at the back of the bar.”

Jeremy cringes. “Ask Slow to go with you. I don’t sing unless I'm very drunk. Not drunk enough for it yet.”

“I am,” Richard says, smirking. “Do you think James will come with me?”

“If you ask him nicely,” Jeremy says, steps on to the butt of his cigarette and disappears inside. Richard stands there, for a moment, breathing in the air. It smells fresh in the same way it does when it has just stopped raining. Richard loves it.

He walks straight to James when he goes back inside, pulls him up from his chair and _informs_ him they are going to sing some karaoke, now. James doesn’t protest too much, and Richard completely ignores what little objections James tries to make.

They spend approximately three hours trying to decide on a song. It really isn't an exaggeration. James keeps either suggesting songs that Richard has never heard of and wonders what the hell they are doing in a karaoke song list anyway, or songs that Richard hates.

“Oh come on, Hammond,” James says, flipping the pages. “You know how this goes, you have to. It’s _come on feel the noise / girls rock your boys / we’ll get wild, wild, wild_. No? Really? For fuck’s sake, Richard, I need to make you listen to a thing or two, this is ridiculous.”

“What was the band again?”

“Slade, you utter idiot.”

“I do know that Christmas song of theirs,” Richard says, feeling rather proud. “I just don’t understand why you don’t want to sing Bohemian Rhapsody, it would be brilliant.”

“Because,” James says, looking at Richard like he is mentally deranged in some way. “If I did that I would have to kill myself afterward. You just don’t do that, Hammond, you just don’t.”

“It’s in the song list, mate,” Richard says. “So clearly someone does it.”

“Yes, well, that’s because you can’t trust people even with the simplest of things,” James says sullenly. He looks almost genuinely upset at the prospect of someone trying to ace Bohemian Rhapsody at a karaoke bar, so Richard decides to drop it. “What about –“ he starts but James is already talking.

“Well, we could always sing –“

“I am _not_ singing Abba, I am just _not_ ,” Richard says. “And if you bring it up one more time I am going to bloody well stab you.”

Eventually they decide on some Bowie, because they both like Bowie and they both pretty much know how the song goes and because James doesn’t seem to have any worries about possibly ruining the song forever for the few people that are still in the bar. It’s getting late.

So they sing a song where they lie about being young and about the country they are from. It’s a lot of fun, though, Richard can’t remember the last time he’s done something silly and very scary (although the alcohol helps a lot, if he is being honest) without doing it for the camera. He keeps singing it too slowly, James miles ahead of him, and catching up at the chorus. He can’t hear how he sounds at all, which is good because it would probably just make him self-conscious. He isn’t a good singer by any stretch of imagination, but James is and as he is one half of the performance, Richard doesn’t think it’s too bad. Probably. He is quite happy that he will never have to see a recording himself singing or do any voice-overs for it or anything.

After they finish the song it starts to feel like it’s the time to go home. The bar is pretty much empty, now, Jeremy having left hours ago already. They don’t know anyone who has stuck around still. Richard yawns.

“Should we get a cab?”

“Yeah, probably,” James says and pulls his phone from his pocket.

Richard watches as James’ long fingers work on the buttons of his phone, and swallows.


	17. Chapter 17

James

They are giggling like school girls by the time James closes the front door of his house behind them. Richard is leaning against his side, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. James isn’t even sure what they are laughing at; it’s definitely not anything that would bear repeating. Something about the way the cabbie had said goodbye to them had just set them off, and now it seems to be difficult to stop.

“Come on, Hammond,” James says and tries to push Richard away so he can untie his shoes. Richard’s hands are holding him tight by his elbow and upper arm, though, and he’s refusing to move, still giggling and wheezing for breath. “Get off me, you pillock.”

“James,” Richard breathes between bouts of laughter. “You made it to the North Pole?” He makes it sound like a question, looking up at James with huge, brown eyes.

James nods, still trying to shake Richard off, but not with too much effort. He knows that if he wanted to, he could get Richard to let go of him. As it is, however, James quite likes the way Richard’s body is warm and solid against his side.

“Did I ever even congratulate for that?” Richard asks, then. “I didn’t, though, did I?”

“Well,” James says, “Not as such. But you didn’t need to.”

“Of course I needed to,” Richard says and wriggles against James so that he’s standing in front of him. He lets go of James and spreads his arms like an eagle, and it takes James probably entirely too long to realise that Richard wants to give him a hug.

“Really?” he asks, warily. He isn’t much of a hugger, usually. He isn’t too surprised to find, however, that he doesn’t mind making an exception for Richard, and as Richard lunges forward, he lets himself be hugged.

Richard wraps himself tight around James, leaning his head down on James’ shoulder. Awkwardly, after James realises that it isn’t going to be one of those blokey sort of half-hugs that last 0.1 seconds and have next to no physical contact, he curls his arms around the shorter man, patting him on the back lightly.

He lets his arms fall back against his sides and expects Richard to let go, but he doesn’t: instead he clings on to James, and lets out a small sigh. James’ insides feel as though they are on fire, and he is pretty sure Richard can hear his heart beating rapidly, loudly and irregularly. He doesn’t know what to make of the moment – doesn’t know what to make of the night.

Richard has been touching him all through the evening, little, subtle touches, not enough to mean anything but enough to have James feeling on the edge and out of his depth. And now this. Richard still isn’t moving, apparently content where he’s pressed against James. James tries to keep his breathing steady, but it’s difficult. Richard is so close James can smell the remains of the product in his hair without even leaning forwards. James can feel his hot breath against his shoulder. It’s enough to drive him a bit mad.

“Richard…” he starts, and then when Richard doesn’t react, grabs the shorter man by the shoulders and pushes him at an arms’ length, keeping him there.

Richard lifts his eyes to meet James'. They are still so close to each other that James can barely concentrate from trying to count the lashes around Richard’s eyes. His hands are on James’ hips, still, and suddenly James lets out a nervous laugh: it’s like they are in the middle of some strange dance routine.

Of course the reality is they are stood in James’ front room. James still has his shoes on and everything. Somehow that bugs him more than he figures it should.

“Don’t push me away,” Richard whines, then, his eyes huge and so incredibly brown. James watches with fascination as Richard licks his tongue over his bottom lip, leaving it shiny. James studies the curve of Richard’s upper lip, feeling a bit dizzy. The hold he has on Richard’s shoulders tightens involuntarily, and it’s only because Richard mirrors the motion on James’ hips that he even notices.

“What are you doing, Richard?” James asks lowly. It’s not quite a whisper but it is close to one. James feels as though his brain is about to explode.

Richard grins at him, but doesn’t say anything. James’ mind goes effectively blank.

_I couldn’t have got this all wrong._

_Could I?_

He doesn’t know, but as moments go by, neither of them moving, he makes a decision.

He lunges forward and kisses Richard on the mouth, moving his hands from Richard’s shoulders to his cheeks, pulling him forward, closer to him still.

Richard’s lips are surprisingly soft against his. James’ body stiffens with panic when Richard doesn’t return the kiss for a moment. But then, just as James is about to pull away and go jump off the nearest bridge out of embarrassment, Richard’s eyes flutter close and his lips close around James’. A noise escapes from the back of James’ throat at that, and he fists his hands on Richard’s shirt, desperate for something he can’t quite put his finger on.

The kiss is slow, tender and very careful, neither of them making any quick movements as if to try and not scare the other one away. It’s no tongues, until Richard touches James’ bottom lip with his. James sucks Richard’s tongue in his mouth, and Richard lets out a noise that’s not quite a moan but very, very close. James feels like his insides are turning to dust, his cock throbbing in his pants. He feels much like twenty five years has been lifted off his age: this sort of mixture of agony and ecstasy accompanied with pure, unadulterated need is an experience he remembers from his teens. It’s nothing like anything he has felt in years before this moment. His shoes are still on.

Eventually they pull apart for breath. Richard looks up at James with wide eyes, his lips slightly parted. James’ stomach sinks to a level below his knees when he realises Richard looks completely panic-struck. James’ hands fall against his sides, and he takes a step back, giving his friend some space.

Richard swallows tight and blinks, as if to try and clear his head.

“Richard,” James says, and it comes out sounding raspy and breathless and utterly panicky. He clears his throat and tries again. “Richard. Are you alright? I didn’t – are you okay?” James so desperately wants to close the space between then and touch Richard, kiss him on the cheek and tell him it’s going to be okay. But he is afraid of stepping over a line that he thinks has been drawn between them, now; or maybe there always was a line between them and James had already stepped over it, ruining everything. He takes another small step back, feeling nauseous.

Richard nods after a while, but he isn’t looking James in the eye, which is worrying.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Richard says in a small voice. He all but runs out of the room, leaving James stood there, wondering what the hell had just happened. He runs a hand across his face, suddenly feeling exhausted. He kicks his shoes off and for a moment toys with the idea of just leaving them there, in the middle of the floor. He doesn’t, though. There’s a chance that it will bug him later, when he tries to sleep, until he has to come back down and place them on the shoe rack – so really, he might as well do it now. Less bother.

As he leans down to pick them up, he hears the sound of Richard being violently sick. He sighs. James supposes it’s kind of a good thing that when Richard said he was going to be sick he wasn’t talking figuratively; but on the other hand, the fact that James can hear the sound of Richard vomiting so clearly means he hasn’t made it as far as the bathroom. If he had felt on top of the world five minutes earlier, he now feels like he’s at the completely opposite end of the spectrum: uncertain of himself, slightly pissed off and definitely miserable.

He goes to the kitchen to find Richard bent over the sink. The sink is better than nothing, James thinks. At least he doesn’t have to wash the floor before going to sleep this time.

James clears his throat awkwardly, standing a few feet away from Richard. He still feels somewhat too close and goes to open the window – partly because of the smell, partly because he feels like he can’t breathe, feels like the world is closing in on him. The cool air washes over his face and suddenly he feels much too sober to be able to endure the situation.

Richard is heaving by the sink, but it seems he has moved on to it being mainly dry heaves. He looks utterly miserable when he looks up at James. Tears have fallen on his cheeks and his eyes are bloodshot and red, his forehead and hair a puddle of sweat. He seems to be shaking, slightly, and James wants to walk over and put his arms around the shorter man, but he is pretty sure the situation is awkward enough as it is.

“Shit,” Richard says. His voice is rough, and he is leaning heavily against the counter. “Shit, I’m sorry…”

James tries to smile but he fears it comes out looking more like a nasty grimace. “Don’t worry about it,” he says, as gently as he can muster. Richard looks like he is worrying about it, though.

“Shit, shit, shit,” he keeps saying, an endless, helpless mantra. He leans over the sink again, looking like he might be sick, but he isn’t, so after a while Richard just turns on the tap and splashes some water over his face. “Shit,” he says once more as he turns to face James again.

“Yeah,” James says, feeling as helpless as Richard looks. “Look, maybe we should go to sleep, Hammond.”

“James,” Richard says. “Shit, James, I’m so sorry.”

James isn’t sure if he’s apologising for the vomiting or what had happened just before that. He isn’t sure if he wants to know – he isn’t sure if he could handle Richard’s shame or regret over what they had done.

“Don’t be,” he says, a desperate edge to his voice. “Please, Rich, let’s just go to sleep. We can talk about it in the morning if you like.”

Richard nods tightly. He really does look dreadful, and James, for a small moment, feels a little bit sorry for him.

But most of all he feels sorry for himself.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The awkward morning after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say happy holidays, and thank you everyone who's been reading this. :---) x It might be a couple of days until I get to edit the next chapter, but I'll get back to it asap.

Richard

When Richard wakes up it takes him a couple of beats to realise where he is. His head is pounding with immense pain, and it takes him a few moments longer to understand why – he hasn’t had a hangover for such a long time that he has managed to forget how it feels. What he wants to do is to take some pain killers, drink about a gallon of water and go back to sleep, but it feels like the world’s biggest task to get out of bed – or the sofa he’s sleeping on, anyway.

Eventually he gets up because he’s bursting for a piss. God, his head feels like someone is throwing rather heavy rocks at it. Why had he ever thought drinking would be a good idea? It clearly, clearly hadn’t been.

Richard stumbles to the bathroom, trying his hardest not to knock anything over. He almost makes it to the kitchen before suddenly feeling dizzy, leaning on the kitchen counter and consequently pushing James’ toaster off the edge of the table. It falls on the floor with a loud clattering sound that Richard is pretty sure could have woken up rhinos in Africa. He sighs and picks the toaster up, deciding it’s (probably) not broken (at least not much), because no parts are missing (it mainly just consists of that one part but who cares).

Sure enough, James trots to the room not much later, looking positively bewildered and about as groggy as Richard feels.

“Morning,” Richard says slowly. His voice is rough. The inside of his mouth tastes like shit. He looks at James’ blue eyes and suddenly he remembers – the image hitting him like a lightning and he flinches.

_James kissed me. We kissed. Kissing definitely happened. And then – then I had to throw up? That didn't go well, then. Oh, shit._

“Morning,” James says, and Richard really doesn’t have to wonder if he remembers. It’s evident from the way James looks at him, carefully, warily. Suddenly Richard is overwhelmed by a sense of embarrassment. He can’t remember the circumstances exactly. He knows that kissing happened, he thinks he remembers that James initiated it but he really can’t be sure, and he remembers that there definitely was throwing up involved at some point, most likely after the kissing, because he doesn’t think James would have kissed him _after_ he’d been sick.

But he doesn’t know how kissing came to be and suddenly, in his hangover state, it feels like too much to handle. Asking James is out of the question, as he looks much like a bunny rabbit: ready to escape in to the forest at the very first sign of danger.

So Richard does the only thing he can think of, and makes a very unmanly escape of it himself, locking himself in the bathroom and taking a very lengthy, very hot shower. He hopes the hot water will wash away the grogginess, but of course it doesn’t. He racks his brain for answers but his memories of the night before remain hazy and blurry. The hot shower does make him feel a bit better, though, at least he stops stinking of his own vomit. He uses James’ shampoo to wash his hair and it’s oddly pleasant. Now that Richard smells the shampoo it is obvious that he’s smelled it on James many times. It tickles the pit of his stomach to think that _he_ is going to smell like James, now.

Eventually he has to step out of the shower. He dries himself quickly, pulling his pants on with a series of violent shivers going through his body. Then he steals some of James’ toothpaste and brushes his teeth with his finger as well as he can. Obviously he has forgot to bring his toothbrush. Normally he thinks he might just steal James’ and either never tell him or dress it up as an undoubtedly hilarious joke. But he is too scared to do it, now, because he doesn’t want anything to stretch to the point of snapping between them.

He goes back to the kitchen with a towel across his shoulders for warmth, and finds that James has made them breakfast. Richard smiles in a way that he hopes conveys his gratefulness without him having to speak any actual words. He stacks food on his place, forming small towers of it. He feels like he could eat the moon if it was chopped in manageable pieces, fried, and put on his plate. The throbbing in his head is still insistent, but not quite as horrific as it had been before he had taken a shower. He can think a bit more clearly, now, although he isn’t sure if that’s a completely good thing. Moment by moment he feels more and more awkward, and the silence is getting thicker by the second. Richard stuffs his mouth full of food to be excused from starting a conversation.

James keeps looking at him when he thinks Richard can’t see it, short, careful glances under his eyebrows. It makes Richard quite self-conscious. Eventually Richard finishes eating. He would, in all honesty, like to cram his face with more food (the breakfast James has prepared for them is absolutely delicious, fried eggs and sausages, beans and toast that he has also fried, most probably because he knows Richard likes things fried), but he is slightly afraid of having to throw up again and doesn’t want to risk it too much.

“Do you have any painkillers?” He asks. It’s a neutral enough subject, after all.

James’ mouth is full of food, so he just points at a cabin. Richard nods and stands up. “God, my head hurts so much,” he whines, his head throbbing violently as he gets on his feet.

James chuckles lightly, the sound helping Richard relax a little.

“Hangover, huh?” James asks, “Haven’t had one in a while?”

 “I had pretty effectively managed to forget how dreadful it can be,” Richard says, sitting back down, two little pills in his right hand. He swallows them dry, making James pull a face at him.

“They will get stuck in your throat, dissolve there and then you will probably die,” James points out.

Richard shrugs. “And I wouldn’t even know; dying probably wouldn’t feel much different to this,” he says and ruffles his damp hair.

James is silent for a moment. Then he sets his fork down on his plate (rather loudly, Richard thinks, dismayed), and smiles at Richard. “So, you probably won’t remember much of last night, then?”

Richard swallows. His throat feels like it’s constricting, and for a flash of a second Richard wonders whether the pills got stuck down there after all. He coughs, buying himself time, all the while realising that what James is doing is giving him an easy way out. It would be so easy to just say that he doesn’t remember a thing after _Young Americans_ and that final celebratory rum and coke. He is pretty sure he would be able to forget about all of it eventually, too.

But he is too afraid of what dishonesty does to relationships. He has seen it too many times, lately with Jeremy and Francie, and while he is definitely not comparing himself and James to a married couple with kids, he doesn’t want the same to happen to them. So he clears his throat, lifts his gaze to look at James’ stupidly blue eyes, and says,

“Mate, I appreciate you giving me the easy way out, I do,” he stops for a while, sees how James’ face falls and feels like an utter dick. He hurries on. This was supposed to be a positive thing. “But I’m going to opt out of it. I mean I know this is awkward and everything but I think we can work around it. Right?”

James is looking at Richard with an absolutely horrified expression on his face and Richard is pretty sure that had he been standing, his knees would have buckled out from under him. Rapidly beginning to think that maybe going for the ‘Yeah, mate, I don’t remember a _thing!_ ’ coupled with a charming smile would have been a better way to deal with this. But he can’t really take his words back, now, so he just smiles a small smile that he hopes is comforting.

“I guess,” James says after approximately seventeen years of silence. “Yeah. I think so.”

Richard looks back at his friend steadily. “Good,” he says and means it. He doesn’t like the fidgety look James is sporting, however, it is making his skin crawl and, Richard is sure, his head throb harder.

“Look,” he says, running a hand across his face. He doesn’t know how to continue, after that, so he just falls silent, James looking at him with wild eyes. “Look,” he starts again, but nothing comes out after that. Richard feels like he can’t breathe. “Look,” he says, and then, without meaning to, “I think I need to go. Mindy is probably already back and we need to pick up the girls, they were staying at her parents’ house and I'm sure they will try and stuff their faces with so much sugar from the moment they wake up that they will be running around all day like Duracell Bunnies and I’m not sure my head could take it, so…”

He knows he is rambling, but somehow now that he’s started, it’s difficult to put a lid on it. He stands up, collects his towel from the floor and looks at James. He feels awkward, and it culminates in him putting his chair back under the table, lining it perfectly with the chairs nobody has been sitting on. He has _never_ done that before, which probably makes him a bit of a cock but James has never asked him to, and James has never minded Richard _not_ doing it. Somehow, Richard’s doing it now just makes the situation that much worse, James’ eyes on him burning holes in his skin.

“Look,” Richard says. “I’ll call you, yeah, mate?”

He leaves without another word, his head throbbing like mad. He feels like he might throw up, after all.


	19. Chapter 19

James

When Richard leaves, he says he will call him but James has a terrible feeling it might be a while until his phone rings.

As days flow by, turning into weeks and then into a month, he knows he hadn’t been wrong.

It isn’t unusual for them to go long patches of time without talking to each other, when Top Gear is not on air and not filming, but James feels uneasy because this time it's different. This time they've left things a mess between them, and it's never been like that before. To be quite honest, he is scared to death that when they do finally talk, it will be awkward and that their chemistry will have disappeared for forever. It also bothers him more than he would like to admit that Richard had said he would call him and then never had. After all, it had been Richard who had said they would be able to work around this and eventually forget all about it. To James, a month without any contact seems like a very counterproductive way to go about it.

He breaks up with Sarah.

They do it calmly (James calmer than Sarah) and practically (Sarah more practical than James, as usual). It’s weird to notice that when Sarah comes to pick up her things from James’ house, she leaves with only two small plastic bags of stuff: some clothes, a toothbrush, some magazines, and a couple of books. They have been seeing each other for ages, and that’s all they ever shared. She brings two of James’ CD’s back; James had never really spent any time in Sarah’s apartment, but he had left a couple of records in her car.

Sarah hugs him when she comes in, and it’s almost pleasant, the way they can interact as if everything is normal between them. Which, James supposes, it _is_ in a weird way. They have just decided to stop sleeping with each other.

James asks her to stay for a cup of tea and after a moment’s hesitation she says yes, dropping her bags on the floor and walking to the kitchen to put the kettle on herself. 

“So, James,” she asks, with a sideways glance at him and a barely contained smile, “is there anyone… special in your life?”

From the way she asks it, James guesses that there is someone special in _her_ life. It doesn’t hurt, which only confirms to James that breaking up had been the best thing to do.

“James!” She says cheekily, completely misreading James’ silence, drawing the word out and bringing a hand in front of her mouth. “There is someone!”

James thinks of Richard. “Nah,” he says, “No, no, there’s nobody.” It feels like a lie for some reason. "You know me, not very good at that. Umm.” _And now I managed to make the situation awkward as well. Well done, James_ , he thinks, pouring himself a mug of hot water.

“You’re not too bad,” Sarah says and pokes him in the ribs.

James eyes Sarah’s bags. “Evidently. Anyway, how about you?”

She looks at him shyly. James knows her well enough to know that it’s only a façade, a way to soften the blow she thinks James is about to have to endure. James doesn’t tell her that really, he couldn’t give a shit. He has a Hammond-sized problem constantly bugging him. There's not enough room for him to be able to worry about anything else, and certainly not about whether or not Sarah has moved on.

“There might be someone,” she says, “it’s in early stages, though, so I don’t know, might be nothing.”

“Right,” James says, trying to sound nonchalant. 

When Sarah leaves, he isn’t unhappy to see her go.

*

They start filming the tenth series of Top Gear. James frets a lot about meeting Richard beforehand, but it turns out to be completely alright, and he feels a bit stupid for his worries. He should have known that something so silly could never come between them.

It’s an unspoken rule, though, to not talk about it, or at least James assumes it is. He has no intention of ever mentioning it, in either case. And he definitely never wants Jeremy to find out. He might have to cut his own throat (or Jeremy’s, for that matter) if he ever found out. Even the thought is enough to turn his stomach and make his head ache.

They get to travel Europe and it’s warm and beautiful and very nice all around. He hates the car but loves everything else, even the disagreements and the bickering that occasionally brews between the three of them. He even secretly kind of loves it when Jeremy takes them to a shit hotel and then tries to make up for it by making them drive 200 kilometres in the wrong direction. Hammond is angry, absolutely furious, and James even loves that in an odd way. They swear and shout at Jeremy in unison and somehow, it feels like home. James thinks he might be finding new ways to be completely ridiculous and pathetic, but he doesn’t care.

They go to France and piss off the coast guard. They test a billion cars and have a lot of stupid challenges. All of it is a lot of fun, possibly the most fun James has ever had.

If only he didn’t pine for his co-star so fucking much, things would be pretty much perfect.

 *

They set off for Botswana to film yet another special, and James is quite excited despite it coming a bit from the bushes and before he can fully comprehend or mentally prepare himself for another tasking couple of weeks in the wilderness. He is looking forward to it, though. It means a couple of weeks away from the reality of everyday life and the responsibilities that come with it. It means that he’s excused from socialising with anyone but Jeremy and Richard for a while and that is just fine with him. And he doesn’t mind going somewhere a bit warmer, either.

Once in Botswana, they all set off to buy a car for the challenges. James has planned it carefully beforehand, so he feels quite confident. His car of choice is one he knows will be available and should be quite reliable. He finds the car quickly, and even makes it to the meeting point first, which is most unorthodox. Things seem to be off to a good start.

He has to wait a while for his two co-presenters, but finally they arrive, Jeremy first and then Richard, who has not only found himself a car but also a hat that (pathetically enough) James instantly likes on him. It’s quite hard for him to resist touching it, but he supposes it would look quite odd on camera. Anyway, it probably wouldn’t be a bad thing to try and avoid that sort of unnecessary weirdness on their first day here. Two weeks is a long time to spend in an awkward silence, after all.

So he doesn’t touch it, but he can’t stop stealing glances at Richard, and when Jeremy mocks the hat his mouth works quicker than his mind.

“Well, I think that’s a bit harsh,” he says and looks at Richard, who doesn’t seem to be too bothered.

He feels a bit silly for a moment after that, but much better once he tells Jeremy, who has stopped them to look at some birds through his binoculars, that there’s a bird on a top of a tree that isn't really there.

“James, you are encouraging him,” Richard says in a soft voice.

James pokes him and Richard instantly catches his drift – a fact that pleases James a lot for reasons he would rather not get into – and starts pretending he sees the bird as well. After about three seconds, Jeremy is fuming.

“You are both massive idiots,” he says when the cameras are turned off. “Massive, massive idiots.”

James shares a grin with Richard and feels the happiest he has done in a long while.

During the trip, Richard falls in love with a car and James falls even more in love with Richard. So that’s something. He isn’t denying it, anymore, not from himself, anyway: he has put a label on it, categorised it in the right place in his mind, and that is, if nothing else, a start of something. It may be the start of getting over him. But it’s a start, nevertheless, and beginnings in life are important.

He is hypersensitive to each and every one of Richard’s little touches. He is instantly very aware of himself and self-conscious if Richard’s knee happens to bump against his under the table, or if his elbow touches his when they are sitting side by side, facing Jeremy on the other side of the table. He can instantly feel the hairs in his arms rise if Richard stands too close to him.

He tries to stop himself from analysing it too much, because he knows it’s no use and Richard probably doesn’t even realise he is doing it. But each time Richard invades his personal space something in his brain ticks off and he starts to think maybe Richard knows what he’s doing to him, after all.

Towards the end of the trip James can feel the remains of his sanity leave him. He looks at Richard, who is virtually bouncing around the set, obviously bored and incapable of staying still, in his stupid hat, with all of his stupid jewellery, many of the top buttons of his shirt undone, and something in James snaps.

He walks over to Richard, flicks the hat off his head and leans down to whisper in his ear. He smells nice, too, the bastard.

“It should be illegal to look that good with a stupid fucking hat on, Hammond. Not sure I can handle it any longer,” he says under his breath and leans away just in time to see Richard’s eyes widen. They look each other in the eye for a second, neither of them saying anything.

James turns on his heels and walks away.

Richard doesn’t wear the hat for a while after that.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeremy is picking up on things. Only maybe not quite as much as he thinks he is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this chapter is quite short. All the remaining ones are quite long to make up for it, though. Happy New Year's Eve!  
> (Oh yeah and sorry about making Jason the bad guy of the story. But someone had to be.)

Jeremy

He has been watching the behaviour of his two colleagues for a while, now.

At first he had thought they had both been momentarily fed up with him, finding comfort from each other. He would have been fine with that, because he knows between the three of them, things will always return to normal eventually.

Then he had thought it might have been the two of them planning something to surprise Jeremy – a party, a gift, a _something_ , that would have explained the fact that whenever he walked in on them, they flinched and hastily moved further away from each other. It had seemed that whenever Jeremy saw James and Richard, they were hunched over together in some corner or on a bench or something, so deep in discussion that for a moment – well, more like 0.3 seconds, really, Jeremy isn’t really an unconfident man, after all – he had felt a bit secluded.

But a surprise party had never come, yet the secretive looks remained. James, especially, seemed to pretty much always have his eyes glued on Richard these days, and he seemed to always take Richard's side when Jeremy and Richard were arguing. It had been weird, for a while.

But now, eventually, Jeremy thinks he has figured it out. He is thick, but he is not _that_ thick, and besides, he does spend a lot of time with the two of them. If anyone was going to notice, it was always going to be him. He is quite proud, though. He has never been a very perceptive bloke, and to notice something like this – perhaps even before James and Richard have noticed it, themselves – well. For him it’s pretty good, Jeremy has to say. Credit where credit is due, and all that.

James is quite obviously in love with Richard.

Once Jeremy realises it, it becomes blatantly obvious to him in everything he sees James do. He knows the man well enough to be reading him pretty much like an open book. He can almost see the wheels turn in James’ head at any given moment. It would be almost hilarious if it wasn’t so fucking tragic.

He knows James only recently broke up with Sarah. What he hadn’t known was why, but he figures now he pretty much knows the reason. They might have dressed it up as something else, Jeremy rather doubts James would have told her the truth, but Jeremy is quite certain the real reason behind them drifting apart was James’ infatuation with Richard.

After a while of observing it, Jeremy begins to get nervous. While he doesn’t really care about James’ love life - he has the right to fall in love with Hammond if he wants to and everything - it’s potentially a threat to the friendship between the three of them. And while Jeremy knows James certainly wouldn’t be a big fucker about it like Jason had been, there is still a chance that the situation could put a strain on their chemistry and that would suck, big time.

Jeremy wonders whether he should say something to James, knowing that if he ends up saying something it will pretty likely end up in either James freaking out and jumping out of his skin or James freaking out and skinning Jeremy. He ponders about it for a long time, really, for like two minutes, until deciding that if an opportunity presents itself, he will speak, and if not, he will shut up and hope for the best.

When he stands outside a pub in Hammersmith, holding a cigarette in his hand and looking down at James inhaling from his, he has to admit he has never been very good at shutting up and hoping for the best.

“So,” he starts, waiting until James meets his eyes before continuing. “You have a thing for our Hamster, then. That’s… unexpected.”

He looks at James steadily, lifting his cigarette to his lips.

It goes pretty much like he had expected it to. James’ eyes widen in a way that would be comical if it wasn’t for the seriousness of the situation. His mouth falls open and he seems to be at a loss for words.

“Relax, James,” Jeremy says between drags from his fag. “It’s alright, I am not judging.”

“Yeah, well, thank you and everything, but I don’t –“

Jeremy wrinkles his nose and rolls his eyes. “Yeah, surely. Save it,” he says, and then adds, just for the heck of it, “I’m Jeremy Clarkson: I know _everything_.”

James looks at him, his cigarette forgotten in his hand. It is a long few moments before he speaks again.

“How did you -?”

“I just figured it out.” Jeremy says modestly. He stumps his cigarette. “Look, James, I don’t mind and I’m sure Hammond wouldn’t mind – but are you sure this is a good idea? I mean, I am not comparing this to what happened with Jason, but –“

“What do you mean ‘what happened with Jason’?” James cuts him off. “Jez. Nothing is going to happen between me and Richard. He has got a wife and I am under no delusions of anything otherwise. You really don’t need to worry about it.”

“You don’t know what happened with him and Jason?” Jeremy asks. He would have thought, with James and Richard being so close, that at some point it would have come up in their discussions over the years. But then, maybe not – it was the sort of thing you would like to just forget instead of dwelling in it.

“Um, I think they had some drama over Jason liking Richard? That’s definitely not going to happen with me, you know that. I’m not much of a drama maker.”

“I think you should probably ask Richard about that,” Jeremy says carefully. As soon as he says it, he regrets it. He has said too much. Shit. None of this has gone to plan. But then, Jeremy should have known better than to start rising important topics of discussion after one too many pints.

“What? Why?” James asks, but Jeremy is already heading back inside. He rather has a feeling he has majorly fucked up.

He has to drink five more pints just to ignore the looks James keeps shooting at Hammond.

After those he feels pretty much alright about it all again.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeremy tries to play a matchmaker and James learns some things from Richard's past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that a part of this chapter is potentially triggering as it deals with (a threat of) sexual violence. It's non-explicit, though.

James

James doesn’t ask about it, of course he doesn’t – he is James after all. But it keeps bugging him, and it's difficult to stop wondering about what might have happened between Jason and Richard all those years ago. He remembers Richard telling him about a drunken fight between him and Jason, but after Jeremy had been so secretive about it, it feels like there must be something more to it than that. The thought makes him itchy and nervous. 

On a positive note, Jeremy has at least kept his promise. He hasn’t been judging James in any way, and he hasn’t made things awkward. Indeed, things between the three of them are as good as ever, even though the situation between them is the weirdest it has ever been. Weeks turn into months, and nothing in James’ life changes. He finds himself falling into the same routines, day in and day out. Filming, the pub, various meetings, the pub, weekends alone in his house with only Fusker as his company, and the pub.

He is starting to feel numbed by it all. But at the same time it’s oddly comforting. He decides that he's relatively happy, so nothing has to change.

So obviously when he has made that decision a night that changes everything rolls around. It starts out like a typical night out with Clarkson and Hammond, the three of them hunched over a small table at the back of some slightly sketchy pub in Earl’s Court, of all places. It’s not a very nice pub, but on the upside, none of the people could care less about who they are, so nobody bothers them. James orders them a round, and then another, feeling quite generous, for once. Hammond smiles at him with that warm, genuine smirk of his, his eyes soft, his hair the longest James has ever seen it. He is haunted by a weird itch to grab his mate by the hair and crush their mouths together, but of course he doesn’t. Instead he just smiles back and thinks that it is good enough. He doesn’t need more than that to keep content.

“A circle of truth,” Clarkson proclaims then, looking between James and Richard with a very odd look on his idiotic face.

“Go on, then,” Richard says, nursing his drink.

James has a bad feeling about what might be coming, and it is proved right as Jeremy starts talking. “I’ve never had a crush on someone I’ve worked with,” he says, his eyes nailed on James. _That fucker_ , James thinks, his blood pressure rising.

Richard doesn’t seem to notice the change in atmosphere, though, or how James has gone completely frozen aside him. Instead he looks up at Jeremy with a raised eyebrow.

“That’s the biggest load of bollocks I’ve ever heard,” Richard says.

“Well, we are not counting the people I’ve interviewed,” Jeremy counters.

“Even still,” Richard says. “Sabine Schmitz. I rest my case.”

“Well, alright,” Jeremy admits. James still finds forming actual words quite difficult, so he just smiles with Richard.

He wonders why Jeremy had brought it up in the first place, though. Maybe he would have liked for James to confess up, not knowing about how James had already made his feelings quite clear one drunken night so many months ago now.

He tries not to think about it, but it keeps coming back to him, and his thoughts always circle back to Jason. He has tried to tell himself that he doesn’t need to know what happened, that he can very well live without the knowledge, but he isn’t too sure anymore. Hammond has never kept things from James – not that James thinks he’s keeping this from him, either, as such, but. You know. James is curious.

He considers confronting Jeremy about it, but he knows Jeremy wouldn’t budge. He is a loyal friend, and he would never betray Richard’s trust knowingly. Besides, James isn’t too keen to let Jeremy find out that James  _still_ hasn’t asked Richard about it, even though it has been such a long time since their little chat outside James’ local in Hammersmith.

James sucks on his straw (yes, he has a straw, and what of it), looking at Hammond as discreetly as he can manage. After a while he notices Jeremy’s eyes on him and he flinches involuntarily. It seems like it's not turning out to be a very good night, and it takes a turn for the worse when suddenly Jeremy stands up and says that he needs to go now, really, he has forgot something quite important.

“Really?  _Really?_ ” Richard asks incredulously. “What the hell, Clarkson?”

“Sorry, guys,” Jeremy says, but he doesn’t look sorry at all. Instead there’s a grin on his face that’s almost triumphant, and James can’t help rolling his eyes. “But I really need to go, now. I’ll see you on Monday.”

Then he walks away, leaving his pint half-full on the table in front of James.

“What the hell was that?” Richard asks, sounding quite angry. “Do you think he’s sick or something?  _He left his drink_ ,” he says, the last part almost a comical squeak.

“I have no idea,” James says dully. “Maybe he _is_ sick.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Richard says. “I’m going to get something, what do you want to drink?”

“Rum and coke,” James says without thinking, and then he’s sitting alone.

He wonders if Jeremy is trying to play a matchmaker. The thought seems utterly ridiculous to him, but then he can’t really come up with any other plausible explanation for Jeremy’s sudden disappearance. He rubs a hand over his face, sighing, almost hoping he’d put on something more fashionable than a Christmas red jumper.

When Richard comes back with their drinks, he is smiling widely. James doesn’t know what hits him, then, but he can hear himself speaking without considering it first.

“Well,” he says, mirroring Richard’s smirk. “It’s nice to be with you alone for a bit.”

To his surprise, Richard doesn’t cringe or tell him to shut up or kick him under the table. Instead he smiles some more, looks at James under his eyelashes and pushes James’ drink to him on the table.

“Have you managed to mend your bike?” Richard asks after a moment. It really is nice, just the two of them, for a change. The word ‘motorbike’ doesn’t usually summon very good reactions when Jeremy is around.

James describes the problem he still has to overcome with his bike, and is inexplicably pleased when Richard offers to come and help him with it. Even though he complains about Richard not putting any of the tools he uses back to their right places afterwards, he really likes building and mending stuff with the man. Not that there are many things he doesn’t like doing with Richard, the list would pretty much be endless. But mending bikes has to be in the top ten of things he likes doing with him.

Two drinks later, and James thinks it might not be a terrible idea to ask him. So after one more drink, he does.

“Richard,” he says. He doesn’t know how to soften it, or how to near the subject discreetly. So he just blurts it out. “What happened with you and that Jason bloke?”

Richard’s eyes widen and he looks completely startled. James instantly regrets saying anything, but it’s too late to take it back. “I was just wondering,” he says, and watches as Richard’s mouth turns into a thin, angry line. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” he adds, but the milk has already been spilled, and the cat is already on the table, and every other lame saying you could think of.

“Why are you asking me this now? It’s been millions of years.” Richard says, not completely unkindly but his voice is rough and his eyes very serious.

James doesn’t know how to reply to that. “I don’t know,” he says. Richard doesn’t seem too pleased with that answer.

“Sure. It just occurred to you now to ask, did it?” There’s a dash of angry irony to his tone, and James looks down.

“Forget it,” he says. “Really, it’s fine, it was stupid of me to bring it up.”

“Yes,” Richard agrees, taking a loud gulp of his drink. “Yes, there would have been more pleasant topics of conversation for you to bring to the table, I agree.”

“I’m sorry,” James says, feeling genuinely quite terrible about it. After all, it is none of his business in any way.

Richard sighs. “Don’t be,” he says, much more gently than he had been speaking a second ago. “It’s just not something I like to think about, is all.”

“I understand,” James says, and he really means it, too. “You don’t have to tell me, I –“

“You are my friend, James,” Richard says. “He also posed as one. He was a good bloke, up to the very point when he wasn’t, anymore.”

James doesn’t know what to say to that, afraid to interject. So he nods, and looks at Richard as steadily as he can manage.

“He had, um, feelings for me, I guess. First I thought it would be okay, I thought he understood that I had a wife and everything.”

James flinches at that, thinking about his own feelings for Richard and the silly hope sometimes flaring in the back of his mind of Richard maybe, one day, returning his feelings. He feels like the bad guy, now, feels like he is Jason, and it makes him want to hurl.

“But he didn’t, as it turned out. One night we were out celebrating something, I think it might have been BBC renewing the series, actually,” Richard says, scratching his face. “He got pretty hammered, and he started saying stuff… inappropriate stuff. I don’t really feel like repeating it. Basically he said I looked like a whore, though. Looked like,” Richard makes quotes in the air with his fingers, “ _I wanted it_.”

“Shit,” James says. His throat has gone suddenly very dry.

“Yeah, shit,” Richard says, a faint, unhappy smile on his lips. “Well, I laughed it off, because that’s what you do, right? I wasn’t too certain about myself so I thought it was just a brand of joke that I didn’t quite understand. Or something.”

“Well, you were right to ditch him for that,” James says strongly. “That’s just not –“

“We didn’t, James,” Richard cuts him off, smiling at him like he is a child that needs explaining how two and two make four. “Because I didn’t tell anybody at that point. It took him backing me up into a cubicle in a disgusting public bathroom and pinning me against the wall and telling me he was going to, well, you can imagine. It took that and me freaking out so much I damn near pissed myself before I told Jeremy about it.”

“Oh fuck, fuck,” James says. “I never knew – I never thought – that utter fucking asshole.” He’s fuming so much the nervous energy is making his hands shake when he tries to pick up his drink. “Shit, I am so sorry, Hammond,” he says, looking at Richard who looks calmer than the situation would allow him to. “Fuck. Please tell me Jeremy punched his lights out.”

Richard snorts. “Yeah, he wanted to do that,” he says, “but then we just sacked him instead. And we made pretty damn sure he would never find a job like that again.”

“Why didn’t you go to the police?” James asks, still furious, and feeling slightly sick to his stomach. “He  _assaulted_ you, I mean, surely –“

“James,” Richard says. “He didn’t really do anything. It would have been my word against his, and I couldn’t have gone through with it.”

“Shit,” James says.

“Yeah,” Richard agrees. “So now you know.”

“Almost wish I didn’t,” James says honestly. “I hope I never see him. I will have to punch him.”

Richard smiles at that, all teeth and affection and it calms James down a little. Still, he goes home that night feeling like shit and hoping he had never asked about it.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Top Gear goes to Bolivia and Richard and James share a tent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is quite a cheesy chapter, but I've grown fond of it. I hope you will like it!

 

Richard

He isn’t too excited about going to Bolivia.

There’s a spider in the house about a week before they are scheduled to set off, and Richard can’t even bring himself to kill it. He looks at it warily from a very generous distance that he judges is safe, and calls out for Mindy. The girls laugh at him, and he plays it out like it’s only a big joke, but in his mind he knows better. He is absolutely terrified of going to a country that is full of insects well capable of killing him.

“Do we have to go?” he asks James on the phone that night.

James assures him that they do indeed have to go, since they are contractually obliged. Richard sighs and packs his bags with a sullen mind frame. He is almost convinced he will never return to unpack his things. There are little bits of positivity, though – he has a car he likes for the trip, given that it will actually arrive, he had bought it from a rather sketchy site on the internet – and he has a hat he likes for the trip. With a little flip to his belly, he wonders whether James will like it, too. Like he had in Botswana. Richard licks his lips. The positive things are mostly overshadowed by the negative things, though. He doesn’t want to see spiders as large as his hands, thank you very much. He’s also not very keen on the snakes. He would much rather a polar bear again, if he’s honest.

Mindy isn’t too happy to see him go, either. She says that Richard is always going somewhere, when it’s not for Top Gear it’s for one of is gazillion other shows. She says that they never see each other anymore, and that they never really get to talk or hang out as a family. There is a lot of truth to what she is saying, but Richard doesn’t want to admit it. He would rather not think about how comfortable he feels travelling so much, spending so much time away from home. If he starts thinking about it he fears it will be difficult to put a lid on it again.

He misses the girls, as always, and he calls them a lot from his trips. His discussions on the phone with Mindy, however, are superficial at best. He feels slightly guilty about it but he can’t stop himself from doing it.

Things have been crumbling for years, now. Richard only wonders when they completely fall apart.

“Are you alright, darling?” she asks him, worry glazing her eyes. She is beautiful, and Richard only hopes he could look at her and feel the way he used to feel about her. She is still his best friend, but for a while now, Richard hasn’t been sure if she’s much else. It feels like too much for him to bring it up, though, so he doesn’t, and it’s alright. He is happy enough as he is. Content.

Or he would be if it wasn’t for the way his stomach flips every time he sets his eyes on James. He hates himself for it, but he can’t help it, and he has more or less stopped fighting it, having accepted it as ‘one of those things’. He spends a lot of time thinking about not thinking about it.

All in all, he feels relieved to get away from home for a bit, even if it means out hanging out with millions of bloodthirsty spiders. Sometimes it gets a little bit suffocating to keep up the façade, to pretend there’s nothing wrong when everything in his head screams differently.

 *

Their starting point is in a place called Spidertown, and if that’s not a bad sign then Hammond doesn’t know what is. Surely enough, when they arrive to Bolivia, the first thing they are told is that the helicopter they were supposed to take to Spidertown had crashed.

“Sorry, what? It crashed?” Jeremy asks incredulously. He is wearing a pair of jeans and a stupid posh-looking shirt. Richard straightens his hat and supposes his colleagues are saving their comments about what he’s wearing – proper clothes for exploration, thank you very much – for filming, to be caught on camera.

The man looks quite nervous. “We have organised for you to get a boat, instead,” he says. “Boat is very good, you get to see sceneries on boat!”

“Yeah,” Jeremy says. “Unless it fucking sinks.”

“Jez,” James says softly, a warning.

Richard almost forgets about his little insect problem until the first night falls. It goes pitch black, and it gets so much worse than during the day. The insects are many and they are _loud_. If Richard didn’t know they were there, he wouldn’t know to panic. But as it is, he can hear them squeaking at him, and it’s hard to focus on the road, which he can hardly see anyway. For the past hour or so, he's been mainly navigating by James’ backlights. It’s a nightmare, and after a while he can’t take it anymore.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” He shouts in the radio. “Let’s make camp, I honestly can’t deal with this anymore – there’s one there! FUCK.”

“I think we should stop as well,” James says.

“Alright,” Jeremy agrees. “Wussies.”

They gather around a small fire. Jeremy has brought a stupid insect book. Richard drinks wine as fast as he can. His skin crawls and he imagines bugs running up and down his spine. He can hear them all around them. It’s disastrous.

“Would you like to hear about –?”

“No! Fucking hell, Jeremy, stop it, or I will end you, I swear to fucking god.” Richard says, directing his head lamp straight into Jeremy’s eyes, hoping to blind him.

Jeremy just looks at James and they both laugh at him.

“Yes, very funny,” Richard says sullenly. The cameramen have already gone to sleep so there’s no need to worry about how happy he seems. “I already know I’m not going to be able to close my eyes, this is awful.”

“Calm down, Hammond,” Jeremy says, not particularly helpfully, finally shutting his stupid book. “Don’t let any of the insects in your tent and it will be fine.”

“Don’t let –“ Richard starts, then stops, horrified. “But my door is open!”

Jeremy bursts into a roaring laughter. James looks at Richard sympathetically. “You really should have closed it,” he says quietly, and it’s almost hard to make out what he is saying from Jeremy’s cackling.

“It might not be too bad,” Jeremy says. “I’m sure none of the billions of insects in here have crawled in your tent, Hammond. I’m sure they have just gone, I don’t know, around it.” He stops for a moment to laugh at Richard again. “You are really fucking stupid, aren’t you?”

“Apparently,” Richard says. “Oh for fuck’s sake,” he says and leaves to check his tent.

The damage isn’t quite as bad as he had expected. He looks around the tent with his head lamp and with a torch in one hand, and he can’t see any bugs at all. For some reason it doesn’t comfort him as much as he thinks it should. He has a funny feeling that the insects might be hiding from him, in his sleeping bag, under the wrinkles of the fabric. Or they might be so good at disguising themselves that Richard just can’t spot them, no matter how hard he tries. He shuts the tent door behind him, and wriggles out of his pants. They are absolutely disgusting already, from the mud from the river and the moist of the jungle and his sweat. He really could use a shower, or some running water to brush his teeth, but as he can’t have either, he just pulls his equally disgusting shirt over his head and tries to straighten it in the hope that it will dry a bit over the night.

He is too scared to turn off the lamp. Besides, he is certain that once he does that, the insects hiding in his tent will gang up on him and attack him all at once. He crawls into his sleeping bag, just waiting for something to bite him. Nothing does, thankfully, but he’s still finding it very hard to relax, flinching at the smallest of sounds – which, unfortunately, the jungle is full of.

“Something is squeaking at me!” He shouts when he hears a voice. “There’s something in here – oh god, fuck, they are on me!”

“Shut up, Hammond!” Jeremy shouts from his tent, sounding quite annoyed. “Some of us want to sleep.”

“Fuck off, Jez! There are billions of them! Fuck!” He has to try and calm down, he _knows_ it. But he is panicking and it’s hard to stop once you have started it. He draws in a wheezing breath, then another, puffing the air out from his nose. He still can’t see any insects, but he can hear them, and it’s bad enough. He startles when something lands on his forearm.

“THERE’S ONE ON MY HAND OH MY GOD,” he screams before he can help it. He swats whatever it is violently, probably bruising his own arm in the process. The bug falls on the floor of the tent, defeated. He breathes in, then out and tries to ignore the complaints from tents around his. He’s quite happy that the crew have put their tents a bit further away from his, so it’s mainly Jeremy and James he’s annoying.

Now he knows, though, that the fact that he can’t see any insects doesn’t mean there aren’t any insects. He tries to close his eyes, but at the tiniest of voice, he flinches, opening them wide again and looking around wildly. As minutes go by, turning into long, long hours, he knows this isn’t going to work out. He can hear Jeremy snoring in the tent next to his.

He has a plan, but he isn’t sure if he can bring himself to go through with it. He wants to, but he isn’t sure it will go down too well with James.

Eventually, after about a trillion years and seventeen insects later, Hammond crawls out of his sleeping bag, opens the door of his tent as quietly as he can, and shuffles over to James’ tent, opening the zip carefully and poking his head inside.

“James?” he whispers. “James!”

“Fuck,” James says as he startles awake, reaching for his machete. Richard rather likes James with that machete, but not right now. “What do you think you are doing, Hammond? I could have hit you with this.”

“It’s so blunt it hardly would have mattered,” Richard whispers. “James, mate, I can’t sleep in my tent, because it’s full of fucking creepy crawlers. Can I sleep in yours? Just for tonight.”

“Richard –“

“Please, James,” Richard says, opening the zip fully and crawling inside. The reply doesn’t come soon enough so Richard just closes the zip behind himself. “I promise I’ll be quiet,” Richard says.

“Hammond, it stinks in here,” James says uncertainly, leaning up on his elbow.

“I don’t care,” Richard says and sets his sleeping bag next to James. “I just want a bug-free sleeping environment.”

James lies back down and closes his eyes. “Suit yourself,” he says. “Don’t let yourself be caught on camera when leaving my tent, though.”

Richard elbows him in the ribs. “Aw, man,” he says. “Would it really be that bad?”

“Yes,” James says simply, not opening his eyes. His eyes remain shut all the while as Richard shuffles around with his sleeping bag, trying to straighten it and get back inside it without accidentally smacking James too many times. Eventually he manages it, lying back in his sleeping bag, a little bit out of breath.

There is only one problem. He doesn’t feel sleepy in the slightest.

Turning over to his side to look at James, his hair a long mess framing his motionless face, Richard whispers, “James?”

“Shut up, Richard,” James says, “I want to sleep…”

“Do you think this is it?” Richard asks, ignoring James. “Do you think our lives will just… happen, from now on?”

He pokes James lightly with a finger when he gets no reply. James eventually opens his eyes, looks at Richard in the darkness. “I don’t understand what you mean. Are you sure you didn’t get bitten by something already?”

“It’s just that I feel old,” Richard says. He has been thinking about it for a while, now. Not so much actively, but the thought has been nagging at him in the back of his mind. His fortieth birthday is not too far away, now, and the thought scares him more than he likes to admit. “I’m going to be forty in December, for fuck’s sake!”

“Ssshh,” James hushes him quiet, and they both fall silent for a nerve-wrecking moment before Jeremy snores loudly again and they know it is okay. “Hammond, you have the mind of a three year old. You’ll be fine.”

“I know I’ll be fine,” Richard says, a bit annoyed now because James just doesn’t _get it_ – Richard knows the day after he turns forty he will be able to stop fretting about it and go about his life. But that’s also what scares him. The fact that he will grow old without even realising it happening. That there’s nothing he can do to slow it down or change it. He feels like his future has been completely predetermined for him and that there’s nothing for him to do but to just hold on tight and try to enjoy the ride as much as he can. “I’m just not sure if I’ve done enough stuff. I feel like this is it, now.”

“You are having a midlife crisis,” James says, matter-of-factly.

“I’m not,” Richard protests, although secretly he knows James is right. But one does not simply admit to having a midlife crisis, so Richard argues. “I’m not buying expensive cars – well not any more than usually. I’m not worrying over my thinning hair.” He pauses for a moment. “It’s not getting thinner, is it?”

James chuckles lightly at that, the sound flipping things over in Richard’s belly. “It’s just, I want something to change,” Richard says, realising when he says it how true it is. _I want something to change between you and me,_ he thinks, looking into James’ unreadable eyes. _You make me feel young. As ridiculous as that is._

“If you want something to change, you need to change it,” James says. Richard wants to lean over and kiss him, then. It wouldn’t be hard, there isn’t much space between them in the small tent. He could just reach out and touch James’ face, pull him in and kiss him. His heart rate picks up as he thinks about it. He is almost sure James wouldn’t push him away. Almost, however, is not quite enough.

The sounds of the jungle around them in whooshes and odd whistles, roars and hisses, cracks and screeches. Richard closes his eyes and sleeps at once. 


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem James reads to Richard (it's not as sappy as it sounds -- well, okay, maybe it is) is [this one](http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/178055).  
> This was originally a part of a much longer chapter but then I realised it'd really be better off chopped in two.

James

Richard makes his way to James’ tent the night after that, too, and it’s almost enough to make James wish they hadn’t booked hotels along the way. Although he is gagging for a shower and maybe even a proper bed and definitely a decent cup of tea.

James is pretty sure Jeremy has noticed Richard leaving his tent in the early hours, but he hasn’t commented on it, for which James is grateful. He is sure it is a conversation waiting to happen in the future, but for now he can’t bring himself to stress about it, weirdly enough.

Richard sympathises with him when they get on what’s described at least in their script as the most dangerous road in the world. James isn’t sure how factual the assessment is, but if it’s not one hundred per cent accurate, it’s at least pretty damn close. Driving on it is completely terrifying. Unlucky for him, he is travelling with the most insensitive human being on the planet. He pretty damn near actually machetes Jeremy when he drives to the back of James’ truck.

“You are such an insensitive prick, Clarkson,” James says over the radio after they have set off again. “Utter fucking moron.”

Richard sides with James, so that comforts him a little. “You fucking idiot,” Richard says over the radio. “One day you will get one of us killed and what, then?” He sounds genuinely angry, too. It really shouldn’t make James’ breath hitch in his throat, but for some reason it does. In that moment he loves Richard so much it hurts.

The night falls, and Jeremy, who is having the least problems with his car out of the three of them, drives off, out of reach of the radio.

James ends up saying somewhat sappy things to Richard over the radio. What he says is, ‘please don’t leave me’, what he means is ‘I love you, please stay’.

Richard replies with his special brand of dry humour and a promise to not leave him.

It’s not quite ‘I love you, too, James’, but James appreciates it a lot all the same.

That evening, their disappointment in Jeremy unites them in a weird way. They both swear at him on the phone, and talk about what an utter pillock and a bad friend he is, both still knowing that soon they will have forgot all about it. The three of them never really fight. James supposes they just aren’t built that way, any of them, to hold grudges and whatnot.

When they reach the hotel, James is absolutely knackered, the amount of adrenaline his body has endured during the last hours having worn him out completely. He can barely stand straight. In the long hallway towards their rooms, James slings an affectionate arm over Richard’s shoulders and wonders if he imagines the way Richard seems to be leaning into him, his warmth radiating through his dirty clothes. The feel of Richard against his side comforts him more than anything else possibly could, and when he closes the door to his hotel room behind himself, he feels content and oddly warm.

He is happy they still have many days of this to go. He isn’t ready to go back home just yet. Here he feels like Richard belongs to him, and as stupid as it is to think like that, at home he is far down the list of people that matter the most in Richard’s life.

His final thought before falling asleep is how it took him so long to realise his feelings for Richard. It occurs to him that it might have been because of how much the love he feels for his friend is things that aren’t of sexual nature. Of course James wants him in that way, too, but it’s also so much more than that. Before everything, he wants to be with him, protect him; to keep him close and safe.

James smiles to himself. It’s also possible that he’s been reading way too much romantic poetry lately.

 *

All good things come to an end, and James finds himself on a plane back to London. The atmosphere is quiet, none of the trio saying much, not even Clarkson. It is often like this, on the way back from one of their epic trips. Everything has been said already and there’s no need to add anything. It’s quite comfortable, actually. But there’s always a sense of sadness to it, too. At least for James there is.

He glances over at Richard who is sitting next to him. He has grown a ridiculous facial hair… thing. James wonders if it’s a part of the imminent midlife crisis he seems to be heading towards. Probably. James expects him to buy a new Ferrari any day now.

He turns to look over at Jeremy, and quickly averts his gaze when he realises Jeremy is looking at him. Blush creeping to his cheeks, he wonders whether Jeremy had been watching James watching Richard. He cringes involuntarily, busying himself by having a rummage around his bag, pulling out a collection of Larkin’s poems.

He hides behind the book, but he can’t really see any of the words in front of him, lost in his own thoughts and the shame he feels for lusting over Richard. He is pretty sure Jeremy had been expecting for James to get over it quite soon, and definitely before now. _Well, he was wrong_ , James thinks bitterly.

He flinches violently when suddenly Richard leans his shoulder against James’.

“What are you reading?” he asks in a low tone that does things to James’ insides.

James clears his throat. “Larkin,” he rasps out, risking a glance at Jeremy, who appears to be fiddling around with his mp3-player.

“I don’t understand poetry,” Richard mumbles, trying to peer over James’ shoulder to see the text. “It’s just… words. I like pictures, painting the scene.”

“Words can paint a scene,” James argues. “Poetry can be inspirational on the highest level, Richard. It provides the reader with a precious affair, giving off both light and heat,” he says, looking into Richard’s incredibly brown eyes.

“Read me one,” Richard says quietly, leaning yet a little bit closer, and closing his eyes.

“What?”

“Read me one, James. I want to understand.” Richard says. “Paint me a picture,” he adds, a husky whisper that makes James quiver.

James pages through his book with shaky fingers, glad that Richard’s eyes are closed so he can’t see. He clears his throat. “This one is quite famous,” he says. “You might have heard it.”

“Bet I haven’t,” Richard says, a little smile on his lips.

Swallowing, and then telling himself to stop being such an idiot, James reads Richard This Be The Verse, which, while he might not consider it his all-time favourite poems, he has always thought a very powerful and thought-provoking piece of literature. James feels Richard twitch against him slightly at the use of the word ‘fuck’, and a small smile rises to his lips.

“Well, that wasn’t very romantic,” Richard says after James finishes.

“Didn’t know you wanted romantic, you sentimentalist,” James teases.

Richard elbows him. “No, but that was really tragic. I wasn’t expecting that. I thought it was going to be all flowers and fields and girls with their hair braided.”

James shrugs. “Many poems are tragic,” he says. “You should read Sylvia Plath.”

“Only if you read her out to me,” Richard says, leaning back in his seat, away from James. “You know you are really odd, James, don’t you?”

James looks at Jeremy, who is still focused on his iPod. “Thanks,” he says. “Yes, yes I do.”

“I like it, though,” Richard says, his eyes closed again.

They don’t talk for the rest of the flight.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richard celebrates his 40th birthday.

James

 

It’s the beginning of December. It’s raining all the time, it’s getting dark outside, and the leaves have long since left the trees. It’s the time of candles (but James doesn’t have any) and mulled wine (James doesn’t really care for it) and snowmen (there is no snow). And Richard says he absolutely, in any way whatsoever, most definitely, without a doubt, does not want a birthday party.

Obviously, Jeremy thinks what that means is that he wants a surprise party.

“What if you are wrong?” James says to him one afternoon, over a cup of tea. “What if he really doesn’t want a party and will get mad at us?”

“Who doesn’t want a party?” Jeremy counters and that’s that, they are arranging a party. Mindy, to James’ surprise, sides with Jeremy, when James calls her to ask her about it.

“I’m actually quite relieved,” she says. “He keeps banging on about not wanting a party but I don’t know, he might be secretly hoping for one.” She laughs. “Besides, this way the responsibility is off my shoulders. So you boys crack on with it.”

James, for the first time ever, feels a dash of resentment towards her. “Right,” he says, and hopes he doesn’t sound as cold as he feels. “Right, we will do that, then.”

Jeremy books them a bar and some ‘lady dancers’ as he puts it, and arranges copious amounts of alcohol to be served at the party. “It’s going to be like a stag do without anyone having to deal with the stress of actually getting married,” he explains, and throws a packet of condoms at James’ head. “It’s going to be brilliant.”

James rather feels like Jeremy might be jinxing it when he says that, but he keeps quiet. He has a bit of a bad feeling about the whole thing, if he’s quite honest.

When the party draws closer, Mindy takes over the planning and assigns for James to book the band. She does the food preparations, and also cancels the lady dancers, to Jeremy’s disappointment but to James’ relief. He knows Richard wouldn’t have liked them too much. Mindy also invites a lot of people to the party – all of Richard’s friends, some of whom he hasn’t seen for years, she says happily. James just hopes they are people Richard wants to catch up with, instead of bridges burnt on purpose.

Jeremy and James are paying the expenses of the party, so they are excused from trying to figure out a good birthday present for Richard. Still, James feels like he has to get Richard _something,_ maybe not anything big, but something more personal than a bill half paid. The only problem he has with it is figuring out what to give him. James is notoriously, famously bad at picking presents for people, and usually he hates doing it and would do anything to wriggle himself out of it. But now, weirdly, he wants to get Richard something nice. Something he will like, and yet, James thinks rather pathetically in his own opinion, something that will remind him of James.

He asks Jeremy what he’s going to give Richard and Jeremy says he will probably just opt for an expensive bottle of Scotch whisky. But James knows if Richard wants a bottle of whisky he has the means to go and buy himself one. James’ gift needs to be something Richard wouldn’t think to get himself.

It is all very hard, and James entertains the idea of calling Mindy for help, but his pride gets in the way. In a stupid, childish way he wants his gift to be _his_ own.

He browses the internet for the perfect gift idea, but comes up with nothing. Everything is either boring, or utterly useless, or Richard has it already. It is pretty hopeless, to be honest. On page 16 of “Unusual Gifts for Men Who Already Have Everything” James begins to wonder why he seems to have turned into a thirteen year old girl. He sighs and closes the browser. Then, after about seventeen seconds, he opens it again.

Eventually he has an idea. It’s not a particularly brilliant one, but it is an idea and that’s something. After about half an hour of hesitation, James orders Richard a semi-professional stellarscope. He knows Hammond is interested in all that kind of stuff. Feeling a little bit brighter about the whole party thing, James shuts his laptop.

Mindy has come up with a rather brilliant plan to get Richard to the venue on the day. She’s made up a whole story about an awards ceremony and that Richard would be presenting an award of some sort there. She’s involved Richard’s PA and everything, and it’s perfect. Richard doesn’t suspect a thing. Indeed, on the phone to James he bitches about having to do an awards ceremony when he only has a few days to spend home between the filming of his various shows.

“It won’t take long,” James tries to comfort him. “Just say what’s on the card and you can be on your way.”

“I guess,” Richard mutters. “But I can think of better things to do with my time. Playing with the girls, seeing you before I need to travel around with a film crew for ages again…”

“We will make time for it, Hammond, don’t worry,” James says. “How is your car coming along?”

“Yeah,” Richard says. “It’s actually _cars_ now. I’m also getting an Aston Martin.”

James laughs. “You are the poster boy for midlife crisis, Richard.”

“Oh god!” Richard squeaks. “I know!”

 *

On the day of the party, James feels quite uneasy. He isn’t particularly looking forward to hanging out with a bunch of people he has never seen before – he isn’t very good at that.

It’s pretty much what he expects it to be, when he first arrives. Half of the people are ignoring him completely, and the other half are patting him on the back and calling him Captain Slow and making horrid jokes. James laughs along and pretends to have a whale of a time, but in all honesty he feels lonely and miserable inside.

They dim the lights as Mindy calls Jeremy’s phone to signal that they are close.

The door opens slowly.

“SURPRISE!”

James clicks the lights back on, and looks at Richard, whose jaw has fallen to the floor. He turns to Mindy, hugs her tight and yells, “You little shit!”

James bites the inside of his lip, applauding the moment along with the rest of the guests of the party. He smiles, feeling utterly hollow. Suddenly, he misses Sarah, hopes he had someone there who he could touch.

James finds himself a nice corner and sits there, watching the people and chatting with whoever happens to be the closest at one time. He keeps an eye on Richard, who is busy greeting everybody and catching up with the people he hasn’t seen in years and years. Time passes slowly, and he is tempted to just leave and catch up with Hammond some other time. But he can’t bring himself to go without at least saying hi to his friend, instead busying himself with chatting to a quite friendly bloke called Dave or Dan or something similar. Jeremy is drunk off his head, most likely because he has left Francie home.

Suddenly there’s a hand on his shoulder. “James.”

“Richard,” James says, turning around, a smile spreading to his lips. He looks at the younger man, the way the muscles on his face work as he quirks an eyebrow and smiles. “Happy birthday.”

Richard opens his arms and for once, James accepts the invitation for a hug, pulling Richard close for a second, breathing in his expensive cologne. He is warm against James.

Richard pulls away. “Mindy told me you booked the band,” he says, his voice low and almost touched. “Thank you. I love it, it’s great.”

James swallows tightly. “I thought you might like it,” he says. “Seems right up your street.”

“It is,” Hammond agrees. “Listen, I’d better – but don’t go anywhere, okay?”

“Okay,” James says and watches as Richard walks away. He doesn’t know why he had said okay to staying when just minutes earlier he had been considering leaving. It is getting harder and harder to deny Richard anything, and it scares James slightly.

 *

It’s two thirty am, and the party is dying, and James is still there. He has actually managed to quite enjoy himself, after he had glued himself to Jeremy’s side. Still, Jeremy has left now, and so has everyone else except a guy called Frank and a girl called Tanya and a bloke with a weird name, Asha or something. And of course, there’s Richard and there’s Mindy, although she’s nowhere to be seen.

Richard is holding the stellarscope James had got him, a look of complete awe on his beautiful face.

“You got this for _me_ ,” he keeps repeating, as if he doesn’t believe it. James is starting to feel a little uncomfortable.

“Well, it _is_ your birthday,” James says softly.

“It’s beautiful,” Richard whispers. “I want to try it. Come on,” he grabs James by the wrist and leads him down a hall, to a staircase. The hallway is dark and it’s quite cold, too. It also smells funny.

“Richard,” he says. “I don’t think we should be here. I don’t think we are allowed –“

“Shut up. They shouldn’t have left the door open,” Richard says and locks the said door behind them, a cheeky grin on his face. “See? It wouldn’t have been hard to do that. If they had wanted to.”

“What are you -?”

“Shut up,” Richard says, walking towards him. James takes an unconscious step back, letting out an involuntary puff of air as his back hits the cold cement wall.

Richard keeps walking closer, stepping into James’ personal space, and before James can realise what is about to happen, Richard’s hand is on his cheek and he’s pulling James’ head down, to meet lips with his. The kiss starts out soft, tentative, but it changes quickly as James’ brain catches up with what is happening.

He groans, low in his throat, and the sound to his own ears doesn’t sound like it comes from him but he can feel his voice chords vibrating. He fists his hands in the front of Richard’s shirt and pulls him closer, touching Richard’s lower lip with his tongue, a wave of pleasure washing through him as Richard opens his mouth at once, letting James inside.

James’ hands wander around Richard’s body restlessly, not stopping anywhere for more than a second or two, busy to explore all that Richard is suddenly offering him.

His hand finds Richard’s hair and he grabs a tight hold of it, causing Richard to let out a small moan into James’ mouth. James’ belly flips at the sound, his cock already hard in his jeans.

“Fuck, _James_ ,” Richard sighs when they pull apart for breath, James’ hands on Richard’s slim waist. “You have _no idea_ –“

James kisses him again to shut him up, swallowing his words. Richard’s hands travel on to the buttons of James’ shirt, fumbling them open. Clumsily, because James doesn’t give him room to do it properly, desperate to keep Richard as close to him as he can. Richard tastes like alcohol and something sweet and James fears the taste of him might be completely addicting.

He bites down on Richard’s lower lip, uses the moment of Richard’s shock to grab him by the shoulders and turn them around, pinning the smaller man against the wall.

Richard breathes heavily, a big, cheeky grin on his face. James has never seen his eyes so dark, his pupils almost completely blown. “God,” Richard almost _growls_. “I love that you can do that. Fuck. It does things to me, James.”

Richard reaches up to work on the buttons of James’ shirt again.

“Impatient?” James leans down to whisper in Richard’s ear, utterly pleased when he finds Richard shudders at his words, a small voice not quite like a moan escaping his throat.

James shoves his thigh between Richard’s legs, and that’s when many things happen at once.

James can feel Richard’s hard-on against his leg. Richard lets out a loud groan. James feels Richard’s erection against his leg and freaks out.

He takes a couple of frantic steps back, leaving Richard, with his lips swollen and cheeks red, heaving against the wall. “Oh my god,” James says, suddenly horrified. What the fuck does he think he is doing? The reality of the situation hits him at once, as sudden and as forceful as a lightning. “This is not right,” he says, stumbling a couple of feet further away from Richard. His cock is heavy in his jeans and he feels like he could drown in shame.

“Stop thinking about it so much,” Richard says, a weary expression on his face. “We both want this,” he says, challengingly, as if he’s daring James to argue against it. “I know we both want it,” he says, sounding stubborn. Richard runs a hand over his flushed face. It’s really not right how fucking gorgeous he looks, then, prickles of sweat glistening on his forehead, his hair messy because James left it that way. And he could have him, Richard would let him.

But he can’t.

“Your _wife_ is in the next room, Richard!” James says, and it comes out louder than it means it to, with far more venom than he intends to. “What the fuck do you think you are –“

“Stop pretending you care about where my wife is, May,” Richard says, and the use of James’ surname stings a little. Richard sounds bitter. “You didn’t care back when you kissed me in your house.”

“It was years ago,” James says weakly. He’s gone from feeling on the top of the world to thinking he is about to hurl. “It has nothing to do with this.”

“You are just scared,” Richard says. He is eerily calm, but his voice is filled with scorn. “You are afraid. For once in your life you could get something both of us _know_ you want, but no. Because you can’t handle the risk. It’s pathetic,” Richard spits, his eyes the unkindest James has ever seen them. “You are pathetic.”

James can feel a lump rise in his throat. He is dangerously close to actual tears, now. Out of anger, frustration, and yes, fear. He swallows twice, drawing in a shuddering breath.

“I don’t want this,” James says, trying to match Richard’s calmness and failing.

“Don’t fucking lie to me,” Richard snaps, the veneer of his calm slipping. He takes a step forward, closer to James. “Don’t you fucking _dare –“_

“I don’t,” James repeats, “want this. Not like this. I don’t want to be your mid-life crisis. You would wake up tomorrow and regret every last second of it. You would hate yourself and me.” James says, his voice firmer by the word. “And I deserve better than that. I deserve to be more than just… this."

“Fuck you,” Richard says loudly, his eyes flaming. “Fuck you! You don’t know – you think you are so fucking clever. Guess what, you’re not. You are so fucking not. If you think for a s _econd_ that I – no, guess what? Fuck you.” He’s dangerously close to James again, close enough that James can smell him. He looks like he’s about to hit James, and James braces himself.

The blow never comes. Instead, Richard unlocks the door and walks away, slamming the door behind himself so hard it makes James’ ears hurt.

Two lonely tears fall on James’ cheeks.

He doesn’t know how long he stands there, in the dark, cold hallway, all by himself.

He stares at the stellarscope on the first step of the staircase. It appears to be mocking him, and he picks it up, his intention to throw it to the nearest wall. In the end just puts it back down. It’s not something he would do.

When he leaves he doesn’t see a soul.

Something to be grateful for, then.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She knows. Of course she does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So close to the end, now! Eep!  
> I fear I'm not doing this chapter justice. But I hope it's not too bad.

Richard

Richard goes about his days in a haze. He feels like he’s operating on autopilot – each day he gets out of bed and gets the day’s work done, but his heart is not in it. Actually, he rather feels like he’s walking with a hole in the place his heart used to be. Nothing is enough to fully grasp his interest.

He gets a haircut, sells his Lamborghini and quits drinking and smoking, in a desperate attempt to regain some control over his life, because clearly something has gone really wrong lately. Otherwise he wouldn’t have found himself in such a mess, with no idea how to fix things.

Every day he hovers over James’ number on his phone.

He never presses ‘dial’.

 *

In the end, it’s a simple enough conversation.

“Are you happy?” Richard asks her, late one Sunday evening. The girls have already gone to bed, and the house is uncharacteristically quiet. It’s windy outside, and the sound of the wind rattling the windows is the only sound Richard can hear.

“What do you mean, honey?” she asks, a questioning expression on her beautiful face. She looks as tired as Richard feels, bags under her eyes.

Richard smiles tightly. It takes all of his power to make it look like a smile and not a grimace. “Are you happy? With what we have here? With… with everything?”

“Yes, of course,” she says, but Richard knows her well enough to know that she is omitting words. He instantly knows what comes out of her mouth isn’t what she is thinking. It hurts him, a deep pain somewhere quite close to his heart, and for a moment it is hard to breathe. He coughs into his hand.

“I love you,” Richard says, and he means it, too. He just wishes he could mean it in the same way he would if he spoke the words to James. He wishes things could be different, hopes that he and Mindy had never changed. He desperately wants to go back ten years, to a time when he was almost too shy ask to ask her out, when she was the person who could make Richard the happiest man in the world with just one word, one look, one simple peck on his cheek.

“I know,” she says, genuinely, but her eyes are sad. For a moment she looks like she might cry, and Richard has to bite the inside of his lip to keep from letting out a dry sob. “I love you, too.”

“It’s just that,” Richard starts, the words getting caught in his throat. He smiles an unhappy smile. “It’s just that, god.” He thinks he might suffocate, the words just refuse to come to him and he wants to hug Mindy, tell her they are going to be okay, that nothing has to change.

“It's him,” Mindy says, and it’s little more than a whisper. There’s a pool of tears gathering in her eyes, now, in danger of trickling over. Her glass of white wine is untouched on the table, and she watches it like it's the most fascinating thing in the world. Tiny bubbles surfacing.

It hurts Richard unimaginably to hear her say those words. It should surprise him, it should make him gasp in shock and deny everything out of sheer surprise, but it doesn’t; Mindy has always known him better than Richard knows himself. Instead of surprising him it just hurts, an indescribable pain deep in his gut that he is sure Mindy shares.

“I am so sorry,” he says, and he means it, has never meant anything more in his entire life. More than anything he wishes things wouldn’t have to be this way. “I love you,” he says again and it makes Mindy cry, which in turn brings tears to Richard's eyes, making his vision blurry.

“I know,” she says, opening her arms, and Richard leans over to hug her, tight and desperate and with no intention of ever letting go.

She smells familiar, feels familiar against him, her small frame fitting against his perfectly. Richard hasn’t cried in years and now that he’s began he is afraid he won’t be able to stop, his emotions whirling around inside of him like a hurricane.

“It’s just,” he says against her neck, his tears dropping on her blouse. “If I didn’t… I would always wonder. I could never… I would always wonder.”

He has no idea if it makes any sense outside his head, but it’s something he needs to get out of his chest. He hopes she will understand but he knows he can’t expect her to. He can’t ask her to do that. She has already done enough for him. Everything she has done in the past ten years has been for him. And Richard loves her for that so much it hurts.

He only realises his crying is getting noisier as Mindy shushes him, with a hand steady on his back and her lips against his ear. “It’s alright,” she says, even though it clearly isn’t. “Richard, it’s going to be alright. We'll figure this out.”

It should be him telling her that. It should be him, and he hates himself so much for making this happen, for not being able to stay, for not being able to love her like she deserves to be loved.

“I am so sorry,” he says again, the words just a big mess that probably doesn’t sound like any actual words.

They sit like that for what feels like hours, Richard’s head in her neck, and her comforting words in his ear. It’s an uncomfortable position to be in but Richard never wants to move. He wants the world to stop on its axis and for this moment to go on forever. He can’t stand the thought of having to face her after he gets up.

“You look at him like you used to look at me,” she says, and it’s the saddest Richard has ever heard her. She’s stopped crying, though, her voice has gone rough but it’s no longer teary. “And suddenly, I just knew.”

“For a long time, I didn’t,” Richard says softly. “I wish I still didn’t.”

She laughs softly at that. "You don't mean that," she says, her tone lighter than the situation would allow. Richard's failing to see the funny side of things, clutching on to her tighter for a second.

After that it’s silence until eventually, after Richard has stopped crying, Mindy dislodges herself from his grip and goes to bed. Trying not to think, Richard follows her, climbs into bed next to her, turns off the bedside lamp and is completely sure he will not be able to catch any sleep at all.

He falls asleep in a matter of seconds, before he has time to think about anything at all.

The next morning when he wakes up and makes his way downstairs for breakfast, everything is exactly like normal. Everything is eerily like it always is on a Monday in the Hammond household. They've run out of orange juice. Richard's bought the wrong kind of Cheerios, again. One of the dogs has done a poo under the stairs. Willow is refusing to put on her pants, and they are all running late.

The only thing that’s changed is that now they know that it is ending.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was always in the cards for them. They say eyes clear with age.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, it's the end, and I'm going to say a few things! You can totally skip this if you want, it's of no relevance whatsoever; I just basically wanted to say that. Wow. Thank you. I really couldn't believe that anyone would read this, but it means a lot that some people have, and you'll be relieved that I've finally managed to post all of it.
> 
> This is by far the longest thing I've ever posted, and I'm glad to have been able to share it with you. I know it's probably a bit embarrassing, and full of grammar mistakes or typos I didn't spot upon editing, because English isn't my first language. But I hope it wasn't / isn't / won't be too bad, and I hope you enjoyed it even a fraction of how much I enjoyed writing it, and I hope you won't be too upset if you ever see something else pop up from me in the future. :)

James

James surrounds himself with projects he could do without, just to feel less lonely and less pathetic. It doesn’t really work, but at least the days go by quicker when he has something to occupy himself with. The weekends are the worst: he can't stand being alone, with just his thoughts as his company. The tired-looking man in the mirror with shaggy hair and worn-out clothes repels him. He feels old and useless. He knocks over his glass of vodka, the translucent liquid slowly dampening the Autocar magazines left on the table. The birds on the bottle seem to be mocking him. James reluctantly gets out of his seat and goes to find some paper towel.

He hasn’t heard a word from Richard in weeks, and while they have had times where they haven’t been in touch for a while, this time it’s different. This time there’s been a fight, and it’s something that has never occurred between the two of them before. Sure, they’ve exchanged cross words, Richard has cussed at him more times than James can care to remember, but the moments have always been fleeting. They have never said things that couldn't have been unsaid, and it has always ended in a laughter or a pint and a clap on the back. Until now. This time, it really is different, and James has a terrible feeling about it all. He stares at the half-empty bottle of Grey Goose for a good few moments, before picking it up and cramming it to the back of his drinks cabinet.

James consistently ignores Jeremy’s calls, which might not be the smartest thing to do, he admits. However, he can’t stand the thought of having to face Jeremy before he’s had the chance to sort things out with Richard. Jeremy might be oblivious to what has happened between the two of them, James doesn’t know. He has no idea whether Richard would have told him. Either way, he isn’t too keen to find out. He thinks he couldn’t stand being accused of anything, thinks it might be the final straw to completely break him.

One week on, on a Saturday night, after three missed calls, he gets a text message from Jeremy.

_what the fuck is wrong with you, pick up your damn phone_

James cringes. He hits ‘reply’ with a guilty twinge to his insides and dreading Jeremy’s next message already.

_just been busy. sorry._

The next messages comes quickly.

_busy now?_

James doesn’t have time to contemplate the message further when his phone rings. It’s Jeremy, of course it is. James can’t see any way out of it, so he hits the green button and raises the phone to his ear.

“Clarkson,” he says, going for cheerful but miserably failing. He rubs his hand over his face.

“You fucker,” Jeremy says. “You absolute twat. I’ve been trying to call you for ages. Why the fuck haven’t you called me back?”

“Told you,” James mumbles. “I’ve been busy.”

“Right,” Jeremy says, sounding angry. "I'm coming over. If you don't open the door, I'm going to break it down."

"Jez -" James starts, but it's too late. Jeremy has already hung up.

His doorbell rings not too long after, and James all but runs to open the door. He has missed his friend, after all.

Jeremy meets him with a smile, and it looks ominously like he's thinking about hugging James, so James steps out of the doorway and waves him inside. 

"So, what brings you here?" he says, and it does the trick; Jeremy's face falls and he goes from looking like he might hug James to looking like he might strangle him. Oddly enough, James much prefers this Jeremy. 

“Care to fill me in with what’s going on with Hammond? He isn’t returning my calls either, the bastard. Seriously, I have just about had it with you two fucking idiots.”

“He hasn’t called me, either,” James says quickly, staring at his feet, and hoping that will be enough to satisfy Jeremy and make him drop the subject. It’s a relief of sorts, to know that Richard and Jeremy haven’t been talking behind his back or anything like that. But on the other hand it’s worrying that Richard has cut himself off from the both of them so completely and for such a long time. It has been weeks, after all.

“Something happened, didn’t it? Between you two?” Jeremy asks, his voice demanding, and there it is, James’ biggest nightmare, staring him in the face. There’s no way to reply to that question without continuing to fuck things up. He desperately wants to buy himself more time but he doesn't know how to. He leads Jeremy to his living room, flops down to the armchair, and stubbornly refuses to face his friend.

Jeremy glares at the withered magazines on the table. "What happened to them?" he asks, sitting down opposite James. "Or, more to the point, why are you reading that? It's shit. Meaning, even though you were fired, it didn't get any better."

James smiles shortly.

“Er,” he says after a long, long while of awkward silence.

“James.” Jeremy sighs, sounding exasperated. “Please tell me.”

“We fucked up,” James says quietly. “Both of us did.” To his own ears it sounds a lot like ‘it wasn’t just me. I didn’t do this alone. Please blame him, too’ but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t think he should be the only one getting the blame for this, and even if it makes him pathetic and petty, he isn’t going to let that happen.

“Not to be funny or anything,” Jeremy says, an uncharacteristic kindness to his tone all of a sudden, “but I had already figured out as much. Care to fill me in a bit more?”

“I, uh,” James says. He can’t deal with this, he really can’t. “He kissed me. Making out happened. And then we both said things we regret. Or at least I regret it. Not too sure about him.”

“Right,” Jeremy says. “Shit.”

“Yeah,” James agrees. “Shit.”

He gets the Grey Goose from the cabinet.

 *

He spends two more weeks in solitude, talking to nobody but his cat. He’s never pegged himself for someone who needs other people, but the quietness of his house after two weeks’ time is starting to get to him. The only sounds he can hear are the rain pouring outside and the purring of Fusker. Normally, he knows, he would invite Richard around for a crappy movie and some pizza, and now that it’s out of question he feels really lonely.

It probably says a lot about his mental state that when his phone buzzes on the table, he flinches violently, scaring Fusker off his lap. He opens the text with shaky fingers, wondering who or what is out to get him, now.

_you were right. I am sorry._

It’s from Richard, and James feels like crying. Five simple words and they manage to turn his world upside down in a matter of seconds. James isn’t sure what to make of the message, but it’s a new start for them in any case, and an end to the two of them not talking.

It takes him about fifteen minutes to collect himself enough to reply. Eventually he sends a text saying he is sorry too, because he doesn’t know what else to say. And because he really is sorry too.

Almost instantly after he’s hit ‘send’, his phone buzzes again.

_you home?_

James’ heart skips a beat. He is suddenly reminded of a night almost five years ago, now, when Richard had turned up on his doorstep after having not slept for god knows how long. He wonders if Richard is somewhere near-by now, and his fingers shake on the buttons when he tries to reply back a ‘yes’.

Before he has time to send the message, however, his doorbell rings. He almost runs to open the door, not surprised to see Richard standing outside. He looks like he’s been standing there for a while, now: his hair is really wet, and he looks quite cold.

James steps away from the door to let his friend inside, and Richard steps in past him, his shoulder brushing against James’ chest, leaving a moist stripe to James’ shirt.

“Look,” Richard says after James has pulled the door shut. James waits for him to continue but he never does, just stares James in the eye instead. Richard seems to be shivering slightly, and James drinks in the sight of him, feels like he’s half-forgot how his friend looks.

“Er,” James says awkwardly after a few silent beats. “Do you want to come inside –“

Richard interrupts him by crushing himself against James, who stumbles back a couple of steps clumsily until his back hits a wall quite painfully. He hisses out in pain.

“You are not a mid-life crisis,” Richard says, sounding strict, almost angry, his face so close to James’ that he could count the raindrops on Richard’s face. His eyes follow the movements of Richard’s lips as he speaks. He has the most beautiful lips James has ever seen, prettier than any girl’s James has ever kissed. “You are a… well. A crisis, period. A fucking _life_ crisis, James.”

“Rich –“

“No, shut up,” Richard says, his hands fisted in the front of James’ shirt. They are sharing the same breathing air and it’s hard to think straight when Richard is so close to him. James shivers and he can’t be sure if it’s due to Richard’s proximity or how cold Richard’s wet clothes are against him. It’s probably both. “I’m sorry, I _am_ ,” Richard says, and he looks down and for a moment his hair prickles James’ chin. “But not because I – we kissed. I’m sorry about the things I said.” He pauses for a moment. “I didn’t mean any of it, James.”

“I –“

“No, let me talk,” Richard says, looking up at him again, a hint of smile playing around the edges of his eyes. “I’ve prepared a whole speech, mate. I need to get it out before I die out of embarrassment.”

James smiles, and lifts his hands on Richard’s hips.

“You were right, though, to stop it, last time,” Richard says. He swallows and James watches the way his Adam’s apple works in his throat. “It wasn’t right. And I’m sorry for taking so long to come around. My massive pride got in the way.”

They stare each other in the eyes for a long moment. James is starting to feel quite cold, now, Richard’s wet clothes making him shiver. He doesn’t dare to move, though, too afraid to shatter the moment.

“You can speak now,” Richard says lowly, a playful smile on his lips.

“Right,” James says. “Right,” he repeats, swallowing. His mouth has gone dry. “If you don’t mind, I think I would rather –“

He leans in and kisses Richard on the lips. They are cold, and taste like the rain and Richard and the remains of coffee. The kiss is sweet, gentle: neither of the men fighting to overpower the other one. It’s tentative and careful, as if they are afraid of scaring each other off.

James pulls away and leans his forehead down against Richard’s, closes his eyes. “What changed?” he asks, doesn’t quite know what he means by it himself, but it feels important.

Richard sighs against James’ lips. “I talked to Mindy,” he says quietly and James holds him tighter.

“Fuck, Hammond,” James says, unable to form into words what he feels.

“Please do,” Richard says, grinning cheekily, pressing his lips against James’ once more.

This time the kiss changes quickly, Richard pressing against him hard and demanding, his tongue finding its way into James’ mouth. James gasps inside Richard’s mouth and tries his hardest to keep up with the kiss. He grabs Richard by the front of his shirt and pushes him back, only to yank him forward again, their bodies crashing against one another.

Richard shrugs his jacket off. It lands on the floor and James kicks it further away. Richard tugs on James’ jumper. “Off with this,” he mumbles hastily, before biting down on James’ lip. James hisses, pulling his shirt off quickly. Richard’s hands find his skin instantly, travelling up and down James’ sides. James feels like his skin is on fire, although Richard’s hands are cold. He takes Richard by the shoulders and turns them around so Richard is pinned against the wall.

“I recall you saying you like that,” he whispers huskily against Richard’s ear and grins when Richard shudders.

“God,” Richard says. “Oh god.” It’s high-pitched and desperate and James can’t believe he’s making that sound for _him._ He bucks his hips forward almost involuntarily, pressing his hard-on against Richard’s stomach and feeling Richard’s erection against his thigh. He draws in a deep, shuddering breath.

Richard lifts his hands above his head and James takes the hint, lifting his shirt off him. For a moment after that he just stares at Hammond’s bare chest, the tanned skin and fit muscles. Then he kisses Richard again. “I think we should take this upstairs,” he whispers against the other man’s lips.

Richard shudders and nods, their noses bumping together. He kicks off his shoes and follows James to the living room.

They don’t make it as far as James’ bedroom. If questioned about it later, James would always put the blame on Hammond, always the impatient, impulsive one. As soon as they are in the living room, Richard grabs James by the wrist and pulls him down on the sofa with him. James lands half on top of Richard in what’s a ridiculous and completely impractical position, but they work around it, Richard’s mouth attacking James’ neck as he wriggles around James to go on top, his hands pushing James down to the cushions, eventually managing to climb on top of him and straddling James' hips.

James looks up at Richard, dumbfounded, still not quite daring to believe this is actually happening. He gasps as Richard, with a big grin on his face and one perfectly raised eyebrow grinds down once, almost like he is experimenting with him. Maybe he is. James is starting to feel trapped in his jeans, his cock aching to be touched.

“God, I have wanted this for so long –“ Richard starts, twisting James’ nipple between two fingers and smirking as James groans. “I have wanted _you_ for so long. Fuck.” He grins down on James, again, and James is starting to think that if he continues doing that, James coming in his pants untouched is not completely outside the realms of possibility.

“Richard, please,” James says and Richard’s smile turns even wider – if possible.

Richard reaches down between them, his fingers playing on the button of James’ jeans. “Beg me again,” he says slyly. “Tell me what you want, James. I want to hear you say it.”

“Fuck,” James says and can feel his cheeks blushing. “I want… _you_. Please, Hammond, _touch me_.”

“That’ll have to do, for now,” Richard says, “but we’re going to have to work on that.”

James is just about to comment that he should have known Richard would be as much of a pain in the ass in bed as he is in everyday life, when Richard opens his zip with one smooth movement and curls his fingers around James’ throbbing dick. “Oh, shit,” he says. “That’s a new one,” Richard mumbles under his breath and James has no idea what he means but he finds he can’t find the words to ask him.

“Look at you, so willing,” Richard says, hovering over him. “Don’t close your eyes, I want you to look at me when you come.”

James makes a sound deep from his throat that’s somewhere between a moan and a throaty chuckle. “Your ego really is massive, Richard,” he says hoarsely.

“Yeah? There are other parts of me that are massive, too,” Richard says cheekily, giving James’ cock a couple of lazy tugs.

 James gasps, and it takes all of his will-power for him to be able to raise his eyebrow at Richard. “Are there? I find that hard to believe,” he smiles and Richard squints at him, spitting in his own hand and succeeding in making James’ cock more slippery under his touch. James knows he isn’t going to last long like this. It may be just a handjob, but it’s more than he’s had for years, and really the knowledge that it’s Richard doing this to him is enough to drive him near the edge. He’s about to fall over it embarrassingly soon. He almost wishes he could channel some Captain Slowness into the situation.

“I have an enormous cock,” Richard says jokingly, his eyes wide and his lips slightly parted, his hair a damp mess and James’ heart is beating fast and loud in his chest.

“You are not very good at the dirty talk thing, are you?” he teases Richard lightly, trailing his hands up and down Richard’s thighs, squeezing the bulge at the front of Richard’s trousers, making him twitch and moan above him.

Richard squints at him. Then he grins and licks his lower lip teasingly, his grin widening as he notices James’ eyes following the movement. He leans down to whisper in James’ ear, stroking his cock with gentle, yet insistent fingers, spreading James’ pre-come all over his cock to make it more slippery. “I am going to make you come, James,” he says roughly. “I’m going to watch as you fall apart. For me. Have you any idea how long I have waited for that to happen? No, I bet you fucking don’t.”

His strokes are getting quicker, harder, and James’ breathing quickens. A nervous thought passes through his brain – what if as he comes he goes into cardiac arrest? That would be so embarrassing. He doesn’t have time to worry about it, though, because Richard bites down on his earlobe.

“And after you’ve come for me, James, then that’s it. You are _mine_ ,” Richard growls and it’s the sexiest thing James has ever heard in his entire life and he’s so close now, he can feel the muscles in his stomach beginning to tighten.

“Richard, I’m going to –“

“Not so slow, then, are you? Do it, come for me. Do it.”

James comes with an embarrassing noise all over Richard’s hand and his pants. Richard holds him through the aftershocks, kissing his face and neck and telling him things James has lost the ability to listen to.

James opens his eyes, watching as Richard zips down his own jeans, yanks them down and curls his hand around his erection. It’s the first time James has seen anything like that, and he’s pretty sure that if he was twenty years younger it would be enough to make him hard all over again. As it goes, though, it just makes his insides twitch and his throat go dry.

He reaches up to touch him, linking his fingers with Richard’s. Mesmerized, he watches as Richard’s breathing turns irregular, his cheeks flushed, biting down on his own lip hard. Before long Richard comes, his ejaculation staining their clothes further. He flops down on top of James, and it’s the first time James realises that his legs have gone numb where Richard has been sitting on them.

Richard kisses him, long and deep and slow. James has never felt so happy than he does now, with Richard in his arms.

They make their way upstairs, taking the rest of their clothes off and having a hasty wash each. Then they cuddle up in James’ bed, Richard lying half on top of him, his hair prickling James’ chin. Richard touches him all over, his jaw, the hints of stubble there, his nose, his eyelids.

“James?” he says against James’ chest, the voice a series of vibrations on James’ skin.

“Yeah?” James says, feeling warm and comfortable and half-asleep.

“You are not going to freak out if I say it, are you?” he says, and James opens his eyes, his hand in Richard’s hair, gently stroking.

“Say what?” he asks softly, somewhat afraid of the answer.

“I think I – you know,” Richard says. “And if you mock me for saying that I am going to stab you.”

James’ heart skips a beat or two and a smile spreads on his face. “For saying what?” he says quietly, fighting to keep the smile out of his voice.

“You absolute pillock,” Richard mutters. He’s sliding his hand across James’ chest, over the faint hairs there. His arm looks tan against James’ pale chest. “You know what.”

“Do I?” James teases softly. He can’t hide the fact that he is loving this. Every second of it. Even though he isn’t quite sure what ‘it’ is, yet, can’t tell what the future holds for either of them. But for now, he’s the most content he’s been for months – years, probably.

“Well,” Richard says, lifting his gaze to meet James’ eyes. Even in the dim light his eyes look stupidly brown. “I hope you do. Knowing you, though, it will probably take you years to figure it out.”

James lifts Richard’s chin up with two fingers, kisses his forehead.

“Should’ve known you would be a sap,” he says lowly.

“ _Don’t_ mock me or I will never give you a blowjob,” Richard warns him, his voice a high-pitched squeak.

“I’m not,” James says quickly, his brain filling with images that make his stomach tickle. “I love you too, Hammond, you short arse.”

“Yes, nice, thank you,” Richard says, but he’s smiling and fluttering his stupidly long eye-lashes at James and he knows it’s all good. He also knows it will be a while until he will actually hear Richard say the words, but it is fine. They have all the time in the world, now.

They fall asleep like that, all limbs tangled together, the weight and warmth of Richard somehow incredibly comforting to James.

The last thing that occurs to James before sleep washes over him is that Richard’s jacket is still on the floor in his front room, along with his shoes and both of their shirts scattered around the floor.

To his utter surprise, James finds that he can’t bring himself to care one bit. 


End file.
